


Ineffable Dads

by TheChubbyManatee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley raise Adam Au, Best dads, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, I love them so much, I'll stop italcizing things when I'm dead, I'm really bad at diolog, I've become emotinally atached to ms.oliver, Idiots in Love, Idiots to husbands, Ineffable Dads, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Multi, No beta I die like Ligur, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Slow burn is kind of a given with these idiots though, The punk lesbian grandma is now a recuring character because I said so, canon? What's canon?, i want them to be happy, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChubbyManatee/pseuds/TheChubbyManatee
Summary: "You're not my dad. They're my dads"Aziraphale and Crowley take a more hands on approach to preventing the apocalypse by raising the antichrist themselves.Shenanigans insueThey may just figure themselves out along the way





	1. Dark Was The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!  
> Tw panic attacks

Surprise visits from Crowley were not unusual. In fact, the majority of Aziraphale’s encounters with the demon had been on the spontaneous side. A run in one decade, another a hundred years later. Though over the millennia, their meetings had grown far more frequent. Certainly more scheduled.

  
Crowley showing up after hours wasn’t at all strange either. Most of their encounters were well after the book shop had closed. Mostly because Aziraphale’s store kept the oddest hours imaginable and he closed whenever he felt like it. It did wonders to keep people from actually buying _his_ books. That and, Crowley claimed that night time was the best time to make mischief. Most people expected demons to be up to no good at night. Tonight would not prove him wrong.

  
So, it did not come as too much of a surprise when the demon appeared on Aziraphale’s doorstep at two in the morning. What _was_ surprising was Crowley showing up looking like someone had tried to bless him, and holding a basket.

  
Aziraphale was as touched as he was flabbergasted.

  
He and Crowley had lived long lives and had near impeccable memories. (most of the time). Of course he’d remember that Aziraphale had wanted to go on a picnic. Aziraphale never thought Crowley would take him seriously. Demons don’t do things like picnics, even to repay a debt. Certainly a strange time of night for a picnic though. They could hardly go to St. James park at this hour.

  
But no! They could have their own private picnic inside the shop! Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat at the thought. A cozy little evening together, with their favorite foods -well, Aziraphale’s favorite foods - and some good wine. A splendid idea! It made so much sense!  
Crowley’s face gave it all away. Despite all his protests and putting on a tough face, Crowley was really very sweet. Down right soft even. It was for that softness that Aziraphale loved him. That allowed him to even _consider_ such feelings for his “enemy”.

  
Aziraphale’s fantasies however were broken off by Crowley’s blunt greeting of “I fucked up something _awful_ ” before pushing past into the shop. Well. That was unexpected. Then again, most things Crowley did were. “Tea?” he asked, squashing any romantic notions still lingering around as he closed the door. “Alcohol!” Crowley yelled back, already headed for the back room.

  
Aziraphale took a moment to steady himself before following Crowley. He was being silly again. Crowley was a demon. He was an angel. Nothing there was ever going to work. Better to stop hoping. Even better, go help Crowley find drinks before he started tearing the place apart.

  
He made it to the back room in time to watch Crowley put the basket down on one of the clearer tables, and pick a bottle of wine in the same smooth motion. Quick as a flash, the demon drained the bottle in one long gulp. “Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished “use a glass for Heaven’s sake.” Crowley just grumbled, miracling himself another bottle as he slumped into an armchair. “What’s happened?” the angel asked, unsure whether to freight over crowley or the books Crowley had knocked over “What’s got you in such a state?”  
The demon just waved at the basket.

  
Cautiously, Aziraphale approached. It didn’t seem all that bad. Just a picnic basket. But looks could be deceiving. Aziraphale knew that better than most. His whole life was about letting his appearance deceive people. Carefully, as carefully as he would have opened a first edition classic, Aziraphale opened the lid of the basket.  
Inside, a baby, haloed with golden curls lay fast asleep on a red blanket. Just as carefully, though somewhat shakily, Aziraphale closed the lid. Turning to Crowley, he whispered, “What did you do?”

  
Crowley told him.

  
Aziraphale brought out another bottle of wine, and two wine glasses.

  
Crowley told him everything. Hastur and Ligur in the graveyard, his orders from below, his split second decision to disobey. How he’d gone to an orphanage on the way, picked up another baby, made the delivery as if nothing was wrong. How he’d driven to Aziraphale’s as if Hell were already after him. All that had lead him to the little backroom parlor and the angel. There they sat, pondering the child and what he meant for the future of the world.

  
“Crowley” Aziraphale gasped when the story was over “They’ll _obliterate_ you if they ever find out what you did.” The words would have carried significantly more weight if Aziraphale wasn’t fighting to say them through a considerable drunken haze. It was hard to not get drunk when you’ve just found out the world's going to end. Granted, it wouldn’t be for at least another decade or so, but knowing it _is_ going to happen is the shock of a lifetime. Several hundred lifetimes even.

  
“I know” Crowley whispered. “They’ll dip you in holy water, or, or, something equally horrible” Aziraphale continued, ignoring Crowley's quiet admittance. He was beginning to gesticulate. Aziraphale’s body had the annoying habit of doing things he desperately didn’t want them too when he was upset. Like the tight, terrible knot forming in his stomach.

  
“I know” Crowley whispered again. How could two words be so impassive. How could _anyone_ who had made such a colossal decision look so calm. A cold, resigned kind of calm. The same look Aziraphale had seen in France on the faces of those headed for the guillotine.

  
For a few minutes, Aziraphale just sat there, staring at Crowley. He tried to speak, but all he did was choke on stammered words. Aziraphale was too drunk and too scared to do anything coherent. He couldn’t lose _Crowley._ He’d known Crowley forever! What was he supposed to _do_ without him? In 6000 years, Aziraphale had never had to face that thought before. Even when Crowley had asked him for Holy Water, Aziraphale had shoved those thoughts aside before they could take root. Now, there was no escaping them.

  
Aziraphale let out a strangled sob. Just like that, the spell had been broken. That calm, emotionless façade crumbling as Crowley realized what was happening. Aziraphale would have been happy to know that Crowley wasn’t as unaffected by the situation as he had originally thought. Unfortunately, he was too busy trying to remember how to think to appreciate it.

  
The world was going fuzzy at the edges. Agonizing scenario after scenario crashed through his brain. What could he do against the wrath of Heaven and Hell? What could _anyone_ do against that? Aziraphale, angel and ineffable being, felt helpless. He was distantly aware of Crowley stumbling over to him, almost sliding sideways as he stepped on a precarious stack of books.

  
“Aziraphale?” Panic. He had never heard Crowley sound scared before. Even when he was in danger of being caught by one of the bigwigs upstairs after he snuck into the garden, Crowley had never been s _cared_. The demon’s hands hovered above the angel’s, afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of them. His glasses were off now, miracled … somewhere.

  
“Aziraphale” Crowley repeated, his mounting worry quickly overriding any concerns about what consequences would come from _caring_. Crowley needed him right now. Always needed him.

  
At last, Aziraphale met his gaze. Impossibly blue eyes finding gold. “Why would you do that?” was all he said. There was true confusion in the lines of his face. Not just his drunken stupor cutting off any of his higher reasoning. Genuine and complete baphelment as to why Crowley would _steal_ the antichrist.  
“I don’t want the world to end”

  
They stared at each other for a long while. The angel clutching his wineglass as he tried to process things, and the demon kneeling before him, desperate to hold his hand. To tell him it would be alright. But, Crowley had sworn long ago that he would never lie to Aziraphale.

  
It was Aziraphale was the one who broke the silence, though they were thinking the same thing. “What do we do now?” he asked himself. Or perhaps he was speaking to the almighty. Even Aziraphale wasn’t sure. He had calmed down a bit, but only in the way that people in shock are calm. That was enough for Crowley though. He could work with that. He’d work with just about anything at this point. Working with Aziraphale had always made things easier though.

  
It was a bit slapdash -most of his ideas today were - but Crowley had the beginnings of a plan. “We’ll have to take care of him”  
“ _Crowley_!” Aziraphale nearly leapt out of his seat. In another plain of existence, his wings twitched, almost springing free. Instinct told Aziraphale to put himself between Crowley and the basket. He didn’t know what he could do to stop Crowley. He wasn’t entirely sure he would stop him. But it was a child.  
Crowley pulled him from his spirling thoughts with a snapped “I didn’t mean it like _that_!”

  
Of course he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. How could Aziraphale expect anything less from the being that had smuggled children onto the ark? Of course Crowley wasn’t going to hurt the baby. They probably should have been sober for this conversation. Before Aziraphale could follow that line of thinking though, the implications of what Crowley was suggesting finally hit him like said demon’s car.

  
“Us” Aziraphale stammered at last “ _raise_ the antichrist?”

  
Crowley just shrugged, pouring himself another glass as he returned to his seat. He seemed calm again, though this time it was a hopeful kind of calm. A “Maybe I was overreacting. The storm’s not that bad” calm. “Why not?” He smiled “It’s not like we’ve got any other plans for saving the world” Aziraphale downed his glass, staring at the bottom of it like he expected it to answer him. “How would raising him save the world?” He asked, reaching across Crowley to snag the wine bottle.

  
“Well no one’s born evil.” Crowley pointed out, gesturing wildly with his wine glass and coming dangerously close to splashing a signed first edition of Evelina. It took all Aziraphale’s willpower to stay in his chair. “It’s all about the choices we make. Even for him. If we do this right, equal parts Heaven and Hell, he might just not be either one” Aziraphale considered that. The more he thought about it, the more it made a strange kind of sense.

  
Crowley saw the hesitation on Aziraphale’s face. For all the many good qualities the angel possessed, coping with change was not one of them. This however, was not the time to be half assing things.

  
“Do you want to save the world?” Crowley demanded, the words coming out more slurred then he anticipated. Probably should have opened with that. And lead with that while still sober. He kicked himself mentally.

  
“Of course!” Aziraphale cried, finally putting down his wine glass “I like it here”. He snuggled down in his armchair for emphasis. “But raising the antichrist to be neither good nor evil” Aziraphale mused, rocking back and forth in drunken compilation. “Will that work?” Crowley scoffed “Do you have any better ideas? One _single_ better idea?” He didn’t.

  
“We’d be going against Heaven and Hell to do it” Aziraphale pointed out, more than a little fear creeping back into his voice. “Is it worth the risk?” Crowley just swirled his wine around in his glass “I’d go against both side anyway. If it all works out the way they want it to. They’ll have their war, and we’d really be on opposite sides. Don’t want that.”

  
If he hadn’t been wildly drunk and frightened out of his mind, Crowley wouldn’t have said that. It was only one of a number of slip ups he'd allowed himself over the years. Something he always wanted to say, but only ever seemed to have the strength to say it when he was broken. Not that Aziraphale would ever pick up on it. Denser than a neutron star, that one.

“Are you with me Aziraphale?”

  
In a blink, Aziraphale was sober. Ambling over to the basket, the angel pulled the baby into his arms. He didn’t take his eyes of the child as he returned to his seat. “He should have a name” Aziraphale whispered at last, begin to rock the babe. “Something normal. Something … human”. Crowley considered this as he too sobered up, though he took it a bit slower than the angel. A wicked smile crossed his face, golden eyes glittering. “I’ve always been rather fond of Adam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it begins


	2. What The Hell Are We Doing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raising a baby sounded a lot easier in their head, the boys try their best, and take an unexpected trip down memory lane.  
> Tw for mildly graphic description of illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If good omens has taught me anything, it is that I know too many obscure historical facts.

As it would turn out, taking care of a baby was a lot harder than either angel or demon had initially expected. They had both known a number of humans in their long lives, cared for them in every sense of the word. The trouble was, those had all been short term arrangements. Spending all of your waking hours continuously looking after a human (especially a small one), was far more complicated. And exhausting. 

Learning how to take care of a baby, properly rear Adam and all that, was top the list of things to do. To say they were unprepared would have been an understatement. They’d rather leapt into parenting, only having time for a crash course in the basics before getting swept up in things. Like how modern diapers worked and what on earth “formula” was. They’d had more luck navigating the foggy backwaters of the channel during Britain's privateer days, than escaping the infants section of the supermarket.

Crowley would be discorparated a thousand times before he admitted it, but he was having fun. It was worth it just to see Aziraphale’s face when Crowley picked out a racetrack, complete with half a dozen little plastic cars. He wasn’t surprised when Aziraphale purchased a bunch of beginning readers books. The little finger puppet mice were funny though. Crowley was mostly just amazed that Aziraphale hadn’t already outlined which works of philosophy he was going to introduce their charge to first. Now that he thought about, the angel probably already had.

Aziraphale marveled at just how many  _ things  _ stores advertised for babies. It took him a bit to understand that baby powder was  _ not  _ made from babies. Crowley didn’t really understand all the toys for chewing on, but he figured it was better a hunk of plastic then any of their furniture. They must have given away their inexperience to the cashier, because she quietly pushed a baby care book in their direction.

Aziraphale and Crowley saw very little of each other after that. Still worried about either of their home offices finding out that  _ they  _ were the ones with the antichrist, they devised a system they hoped would keep them safe, as well as give Adam balanced upbringing he needed. Aziraphale would take the baby one weekend, Crowley the next. 

After the first two months, they were so run ragged that Aziraphale  _ slept _ . Slept and did so regularly. Ironically, since Adam’s arrival in their lives, Crowley had been losing sleep. A child brought so much anxiety with it. What if he put something in his mouth and choked? What if he caught some terrible disease? Baby’s were  _ fragile _ . Humans in general were fragile, but babies were so  _ delicate _ . Adam’s presence rocketed their anxiety on a more personal level as well. One inescapable question looming in an ever present cloud. 

What if they were caught? 

True, no one would know he was the antichrist thanks to some magic bubble thingy. But there would still be  _ questions _ . If Heaven found Aziraphale with a baby, he could chalk it up to general do gooding. If Hell found  _ Crowley _ with a baby, all bets were off. That didn’t stop Crowley coming up with the back up plan of telling them it was some random,  _ normal _ child he’d stolen (not a complete lie) to raising to be their dark lord’s right hand man. It sounded like something downstairs would like. 

They worried. They worked. They wore themselves a little thinner. 

They went from alternating weeks, to alternating days, to finally switching out for half a day. Not that it was all bad though. No, not at all. They saw far more of each other then they ever had. Not for very long, but it was still  _ more _ . In the grand scheme of things, seeing each other for only half an hour every day was significantly more then spending an entire day together once every decade or so. 

Not to mention, the incredibly  _ soft  _ moments they found in between the day to day stress. Little bubbles of peace that revealed sides of themselves that neither angel nor demon wished to admit existed. 

Once, when Aziraphale came by to pick up Adam, and found something unexpectedly adorable. Crowley had fallen asleep in one of the few chairs his flat contained. A book of astronomy in his lap and Adam, fast asleep against his chest. 

The baby’s face was so squished into Crowley’s chest it almost looked like they were trying to become one. They made for a vivid contrast. Crowley in his black and red suit, and Adam in his yellow onesie covered in blue ducks. What would the neighbors say?

Crowley would argue against it, even get angry about it if Aziraphale (or anyone else) brought it up, but he  _ loved  _ kids. He was soft as a lamb around every child he had ever encountered. Especially those in need. Aziraphale still remembered with great fondness the first time he’d discovered that secret. It had been during the reign of Justinian the first of the Byzantines, on the outskirts of an empire consumed by plague. It hadn’t been one of the great plagues, though any plague is great in its own right. That’s what made them plagues. 

Aziraphale hadn’t liked it much in the same way that he hadn’t liked the ark. He was a being of love and protection. He was supposed to be keeping people safe, to  _ ease _ suffering. It tore Aziraphale apart (figuratively and literally) to see so much pain and not be able to do anything about it. But, one didn’t just go against the great plan. To this day, he told himself She had a good reason for doing it. Sometimes, he almost believe that. 

In the end though, he hadn’t had the courage to go against it. 

Crowley on the other hand was a demon. Going against the will of Heaven was kind of what he did. Which was the exact excuse he’d used when Aziraphale had caught him curing sick children. 

Aziraphale’d been sent to advise a local inventor on which of his plans to follow. He hadn’t been particularly enjoying the visit before he found Crowley. It was hard to enjoy one’s self when you’re surrounded by suffering. He’d been wandering through the streets of the little town, lost in thought while he waited for the next ship. There were no places of scholarly work or public houses that he could distract himself, so Azirpahle was left to drift about the night. 

That was, until he heard quiet voices. Nothing distinct, just a murmur, a crowd of tiny voices that were trying to be heard without being  _ overheard _ . Bored out of his mind and looking for anything -  _ anything _ \- to distract himself from the reality of things, Aziraphale poked his head down one of the side alleys. He almost gasped, if he hadn’t feared to destroy the moment. Silhouetted against the night, Crowley stood a slender specter in the moonlight. Dressed in a long black tunic and red cape, it was one of the few times Crowley had cut his hair short to fit the local style. He really was good at changing with the times. Aziraphale was still wearing the old roman style, sticking out like a sore thumb in the Byzantine world. 

A small huddle of children followed the demon, one of the older children leading him to the sick. A pair of twins -maybe five years old - sat slumped against the alley wall. Boy and girl curled around each other, trying to protect one another even as their bodies wasted away. Their breathing was shallow and their eyes glazed with fever. Plagues weren’t pretty. Ravaging the human form in ways Aziraphale shuddered to imagine. The children stood on death’s doorstep, and they knew it. The sight was enough to make even a largely unnecessary heart like Aziraphale’s clench. 

His heart soared a moment later, when Crowley knelt down next to the pair and gently ran his hand over their foreheads. The effect was not instantaneous. Skin reknit itself, returning to a normal, healthy flush. Clothes and hair brushed themselves clean, releasing a little cloud of dust that quickly evaporated into thin air. In soft glow of the moon, Aziraphale could have sworn the twins seemed to sparkle. The formerly sick children looked up at Crowley with big, wondrous eyes. Awed by what he’d done, but too stunned to ask how it had been accomplished. 

Crowley just smiled. It was the softest smile Aziraphale had ever seen. He was far more used to sharp smirks and mad grins on Crowley’s lips. The kind that could cut someone one off mid sentence if they weren’t used to them. Though, you were far more likely to be cut by the demons words. Or the demon, though Aziraphale had never actually seen him in a fight. With a sword at least. He couldn’t  _ count  _ the number of verbal spars they’d had over the years. That wasn’t even counting the theological debates Crowley had started with whatever passing scholar he could bribe with a drink.

Aziraphale was turning to leave, heart full and mood lifted, when an all too familiar voice called him back. “ _ Aziraphale? _ ” Crowley whisper hissed, more shocked then indignant, though plenty indignant. For a moment, the angel considered just leaving. Crowley would probably never forgive him for catching him doing something  _ good _ . Aziraphale could just walk away and it would be just another thing they didn’t talk about. Truth be told though, Aziraphale needed to be around a friendly (or at least familiar) face. Crowley was good company. 

Aziraphale pivited, beaming at Crowley as he turned back towards him. “Well hello” he whispered back, making his way carefully in the dark. He stopped a little way from Crowley and the small crowd of children, keeping his distance until he was properly invited over. “Fancy meeting you here”.

“Don’t you ssstart” Crowley growled, puffing himself up like an angry cat. An unnatural flash of light gleamed in reptilian eyes as he bared the tiniest of fangs. Which might have been scary if anyone else had done it. Aziraphale had never been afraid of Crowley. Worried and nervous about his more aggressive outbursts, but never  _ scared _ . That and, it’s hard to take anyone trying to be frightening seriously when they’ve got two five year olds braiding their hair. 

Aziraphale just smiled, trying to hide it as he miracled up a bag full of bread and cheese for the children “I didn’t say anything”. The demon narrowed his eyes, skeptical. Aziraphale continued to say nothing as he passed out the food to the hungry children, who took it with only a little bit of scrutiny. The stranger knew their mysterious guardian, and said guardian wasn’t actively trying to get rid of him, so he must have been alright. The supernatural beings watched the food vanish. Neither of them knew what a piranha was, but when each independently discovered them, they would think back to those children.

“I’m being very evil here” Crowley insisted. A statement  _ slightly  _ undercut by the littlest of the bunch crawling into his lap to sleep. “Going against the great plan and everything”. Aziraphale just nodded, his own small crowd of children settling in around him with quiet demands for a story. “They will realize that their government is failing them, they’ll grow up to be thieves or crooks or sssomething.” 

“Oh, of course” Aziraphale smiled indulgently “I admit defeat before your  _ evil  _ genius, wily serpent.” Said serpent huffed indignantly, but otherwise let the matter drop. For the most part. Crowley had continued to grumble good naturedly through out the night, though there was no real bite to it. Only chiming in now and again to “correct” Aziraphale’s story. Only encouraging the children to come up with their own additions. A fairly pleasant night all and all. 

Shaking himself out of the past, Aziraphale gently lifted Adam off of Crowley, careful not to disturb either one. Putting Adam away in his carrier and setting him by the door, Aziraphale started tidying. Picking up toys, straightening out this and that until the flat looked as good as new. Crowley had probably had a busy week. Gave him one less thing to worry about. Before he left though, Aziraphale miracled up a blanket. A nice red quilt to tuck Crowley in. He almost took the demon’s glasses off, reasoning that it couldn’t be very comfortable having bits of plastic jammed into his face. Almost. 

There was something special about Crowley’s glasses. He was very … guarded about his eyes. Aziraphale had never understood why. Well, he understood  _ why _ . It was a constant reminder of what he was, what he had lost. He never failed to make Aziraphale feel special when Crowley retired the shades. It was subtle, but it was a show of vulnerability. Something both angels and demons were  _ loathed  _ to do, even among members of their own side. Crowley might have hated his eyes, but Aziraphale had always found them quiet lovely. Not that he could  _ ever  _ say that out loud. Still, he respected Crowley enough to let them be. 

His hands still hovered over Crowley’s face though. There was a want there. A want that he always bit back. To touch. Not in the carnal sense, but just for the warmth. The closeness. The sense of intimacy that came with it, what it could say. All the feelings that Aziraphale  _ couldn’t  _ put into words. Knowing someone else was there and they  _ cared _ . 

Instead, he left. 

Some weeks later, Crowley found himself in a similar situation. On his way to collect Adam, he stopped in the little stairwell leading up to the largely unused flat sitting above the bookshop. Aziraphale was quirky, even by angel standards.  _ Especially _ by angel standards. For example, no other angel in the history of creation, had ever tried to learn “magic”. Why would they? When you could do proper magic, miracling things out of thin air and changing the fabric of reality, everything else was trivial. It was like saying the Bentley was the same as a smart car. Both judgments would have put someone on Crowley’s list for petty (and not so petty) revenge. 

Aziraphale however,  _ loved  _ it. 

It was one of those aspects of Aziraphale that was as charming as it was irritating. It was also Crowley’s fault that he liked them. They’d gone to see Robert Angier in the early 1900’s - at Crowley’s suggestion - in order to make fun of them. The whole thing had backfired and Aziraphale had become infatuated with magicians. Working out the tricks of the trade simply buy sight. And convincing one of the less well known magicians hanging around London to teach him the tricks of the trade. In return, Aziraphale had “helped” with his publicity. The angel had been insufferable for the rest of the decade. Once, Aziraphale forced Crowley to sit through his whole “Routine”. Half way through, Crowley had wondered if he’d been discorperated without realizing it, and sent to his own personal corner of Hell. 

Crowley had never understood  _ why  _ Aziraphale was interested in the humans concept of magic. Magicians and escape artists may have been all the rage once, but their popularity had gone as quickly as it had come. Thank … someone. Though there were places that still kept the trade alive It was part of the reason why Crowley refused to go to the states. Their concept of magic was so … twisted. Not to mention that many of their magicians were of the oily, self centered variety. The kind of people Crowley made a point of insuring they were the ones on the receiving end of his mischief whenever possible. 

Aziraphale however was (thankfully) blissfully unaware of the existence of Vegas or any other epicenters of “conjuring”. That didn’t stop him from continuing the practice. Crowley almost groaned aloud when he heard the sound of coins and kerchiefs being thrown around the living room. Aziraphale was  _ awful  _ at his tricks. It made Crowley physically uncomfortable to watch. He almost walked out the door. Until, that was, he heard Adam’s shrieking laughter. 

He peaked around the corner just in time to see Aziraphale “miraculously” vanish a coin into his sleeve. Adam, who was now only just old enough to sit up on his own, stared own, spellbound. The infant almost fell over laughing when Aziraphale, after making a great show of looking around curiously, pulled the coin “out of thin air”.

Crowley may or may not have been secretly filming all of this on his phone. 

It was too cute to interrupt. Why do that when he could be using his time to do far wickeder things. Crowley could come back later. Besides, leaving Aziraphale alone with a child he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, was wicked in its own right. 

Crowley did not go out to do anything particularly evil. Changed a few street signs, flattened a few tires, miracled up some parking tickets just as meters expired. Just to keep up with appearances. The more things he could report back to Hell on top of his supposed “check ups” on Warlock. Warlock, what a name for a child. Even for the supposed antichrist. He tried not to think about the situation he landed himself in. Instead, as always, his thoughts wandered - involuntarily - back to Aziraphale. 

He and Aziraphale knew the difference between miracled magic and human tricks. Maybe that was why Aziraphale had taken up his bizarre hobby. Because it could bring a little wonder into the world that he didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble for. Crowley could respect that.

When he came back, Aziraphale was fast asleep in Adam’s playpen. Adam himself was busy zooming around the confines of the pen like it was his own personal racetrack. The angel, warn out to his limit, was completely oblivious to the infante nascar going on around him. Crowley did  _ not  _ take more pictures

Scooping Adam out of the playpen, Crowley danced the baby around the room. Adam shrieked and flailed, pulling Crowley’s glasses off his face. After quiet a bit of drooling on the shades (as was the want of most infants), Adam took the unexpected leap of putting them on. “Marvelous look” Crowley chuckled, the baby staring back at him through the tinted lenses. While Adam messed about with folding and unfolding the shades, Crowley leaned down to gently tap Aziraphale on the shoulder. The angel didn’t jump or startle. Instead, his face scrunched up, like he was trying to focus on a thought that kept slipping away from him. His eyes opened slowly, staring blankly at the ceiling before focusing on Crowley. 

“Hello dear boy” Aziraphale murmured, the softest of smiles creeping across his face. Crowely’s stomach did strange things when he did things like that. So many things about Aziraphale had that effect on Crowley. Which always lead to Crowley taking that urge and burying it alive at the bottom of an empty well in the endless forest of limbo. Trouble about limbo, things never stayed put for long. 

Aziraphale managed to get himself upright, if a bit slowly. He had slightly more difficulty getting over the playpen walls. Crowley would have taken pictures of that too, if it didn’t mean losing his phone forever. It was only as Aziraphale was settling down on the couch next to Crowley, that the adrenaline finally left Adam. They watched in silent wonder as Adam tried to stay awake, tiny head bobbing up and down, before finally collapsing against Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Isn’t it a wonder how quickly they can wear themselves out?” Crowley only grunted in reply. They watch the child together for a while. His tiny chest heaving up and down, legs occasionally twitching in unknown dreams. They talk in the way that is most familiar to them. In the arching of eyebrows and slight nods. Twitching lips and 

How can something so small bring about the end of everything? How can all that work and creation and history vanish in a snap. A very certain kind of snap. 

“This is a bit trickier than I imagined it to be” Aziraphale whispered into the silence. He was no longer looking at Adam. “I don’t think I really know what I’m doing”. Crowley hadn’t seen him this flustered since the day they’d met. Well, maybe the first time they’d ever ridden in the Bentley. But that time had been kind of funny. 

This time, Crowley was right there with him. “Me too” He admitted. 

“What are we going to do?” 

It was a good question. One Crowley didn’t have the answer too. They were making it up as they went, but no one had stopped them so far. That was enough for Crowley. To hope.

“We’ll figure it out” 


	3. Let's Make A Day Of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special News Bulletin : Local serpent attempts to show affection to his angel, more at 7.

“ _ Crowley _ .” Aziraphale all but purred “You didn’t have to do this” 

The former serpent shrugged, shifting a bit on picnic blanket he was currently sunning himself on to make room for the angel. “Thought it might be nice to get out for a bit,” he said, very carefully not looking at Aziraphale “Sunlight’s good for humans and all. Got to do what’s right for Adam”. Yep. Just fulfilling his duties. Solely for the purpose of not ending the world. It was not he wanted to spend time with Aziraphale. Nope. No ulterior motive there. Nor was it because Crowley wanted Adam to have fun. Not in the slightest. If Aziraphale just  _ happened  _ to be in the neighborhood on his routine walk, and Crowley just  _ happened  _ to be out having a picnic with Adam, why shouldn’t they spend the afternoon together?

No one could deny Adam was having a good time though. The infant antichrist was propped up at the edge of the blanket, pulling grass up by the roots and trying to eat dirt. Crowley’s foot repeatedly came between his little baby fist and his mouth at every attempt. 

“Well” Aziraphale declared as he took his seat next to Crowley “I think it’s lovely”. Crowley just grunted, nudging a picnic basket towards the angel. Praise did strange things to him, especially coming from Aziraphale. Hell wasn’t big on congratulations, and when you did do something they liked, it only meant more trouble in the long run. More than that, Aziraphale’s praise was so  _ honest _ . No manipulation, no hidden agenda waiting to bite Crowley in the ass. Kindness made Crowley’s insides squirm and his skin feel just a little too tight. It made him push the basket towards the angel a bit harder than necessary. 

Never one to miss the hint where food was concerned, Aziraphale excepted the offered basket and began setting out lunch. Crowley took quiet pride in the picnic spread. As he didn’t technically have a job and all other assignments from Hell had been put on the back burner, Crowley’d found himself with a surprising amount of time on his hands. So, he’d learned to cook. Adam couldn’t eat baby food his whole life. Well, he probably could, but it sounded awfully boring. Crowley did not  _ do  _ boring. 

Cooking wasn’t as hard as breaking into a planning department or coming up with new plans to keep Hell of his back, but it was  _ different _ . A bit like chemistry, but a lot more hands on. For instance, you couldn’t be elbows deep in a bowl of acid. Not safely, at least. Couldn’t be that hard. No harder then adding a kitchen to the layout to his flat. Fighting attitude in hand, Crowley had tackled his first cookbook. 

Two hours later, he stood in a mostly demolished kitchen, feeling far more pleased with himself then he had any right to be.

Crowley was going to need a new kitchen (with the addition of a couple of fire extinguishers), but it had been  _ fun _ . He liked the feeling of dough under his hand and the smell and sound of caramelized onions. Seeing each dish coming together, from shapeless lumps to a purposeful design. The oven was now his arch nemesis, but everything balanced out to a positive experience. By the time he was packing the picnic, Crowley couldn’t shake the tingly feeling that his work was going to be  _ appreciated  _ instead of offhandedly dismissed. And no one appreciated food like Aziraphale. Crowley had pulled out as many stops as his still budding skills would allow, with a few minor miracles thrown in to keep the food fresh. Lobster rolls, tomato and mozzarella salad, and one very small carrot cake. They may or may not have also been a jug of strawberry and lemon sparkling Rosé hidden among the tupperware. 

Crowley watched Aziraphale unpack everything, only moving to accept a glass of Rosé. As Crowley sipped his wine, he contemplated the many benefits of sunglasses. They hid his eyes from the obnoxious, prying questions of humans. On the rare days when it was sunny, they actually let him see. What Crowley liked best about his shades, was that no one really knew where he was looking. He used it to his advantage as often as he could. Sizing up enemies, casing areas of potential mischief, and best of all, watching Aziraphale. Just about everything he did captivated Crowley. 

He found that watching Aziraphale doing what he loved best was his favorite. When he ate, Crowley got a little peak at the  _ true _ Aziraphale. The angel let himself go just a bit for the chance to try a new dish or savor familiar comforts. No longer concerned with censuring himself, Aziraphale stopped trying to force himself into the cookie cutter mold that Heaven held him up against. Just for a bit. Indulgence was a sin, which Crowley had always found a bit strange. What was so wrong with  _ enjoying  _ yourself? Though the aspect of sin only made it all the more  _ delicious  _ to know that Aziraphale trusted him enough to indulge around Crowley. It was a small thing, but it never failed to turn Crowley to goo. He ate up every second of it. 

When he ate, Aziraphale drew out every bite. Exalting in the flavors and textures each dish brought with it. He could make something as simple as a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich look like something plucked out of Eden. 

Food was not the exception either. Aziraphale got so excited about books. Looking at them the way many humans would have looked at a bar of gold or priceless stones. He had never formally shown Crowley, but the demon was well aware of the little nook he had hidden away in the shop for examining first editions. The silk gloves he used to turn the pages with and the army of magnifying glasses he used to see all the embellishments of an illuminated text. Crowley never thought he’d be jealous of something as mundane as a  _ book _ , but he was. He longed for that kind of care, that  _ reverence _ . He could push those feelings down though. Just to see his angel read. 

Aziraphale often read aloud to Crowley. He threw himself at each rendition, walking about the room and acting out the scenes. The angel possessed a marvelous sense of tone, speaking each sentence as close to how the each author imagined them in their head. It was as impressive as it was entertaining. Words written hundreds of years ago, by someone Aziraphale had never met, could bring him to tears. They could make him laugh till his sides ached or work him into a righteous fury, should his favorite character be wronged. Each story was an emotional rollercoaster that Aziraphale threw himself at with his whole being. Crowley was just along for the ride. “It’s like being in a whole different world!” Aziraphale had explained once “I wish I could be there”. Crowley sympathized. He had often dreamed of a different world. One that was almost, but not quite like the one he lived in. Today was one of those times when the dreams came as true as they could. 

”What shall we do with ourselves?” Aziraphale mused, finally tucking in to the carrot cake. Crowley hummed, a grin spreading slowly across his face. “I could go join that yoga group.” he said, jutting head towards a cluster of people out in the meadow. Aziraphale’s face contorted, not unlike the .

“The last time you stretched in public, someone thought you’d been the car crash.  _ Hardly  _ a surprise, given how you drive.” Crowley grind at the half forgotten memory. It was on a day not unlike this, one where Crowley was trying to get Aziraphale out of the shop. Mostly, he just wanted to be with Aziraphale. To be around him for more than just their “Arrangement”. They’d gone to the circus and had a pretty good time of it. Of course Crowley, ever curious, had tried to turn himself into a pretzel like the contortionist. Just to see if he could. One of the many benefits of being a snake, joints are optional. Made quiet the scene, especially since he hadn’t told Aziraphale what he was going to do. Then of course there was the couple who had looked over at the wrong moment when the angel had yelled. “Told them I was a stunt double for the exorcist” Crowley chuckled. He hadn’t particularly liked that movie, too much puking. Though, Crowley would be the first to admit that he had tried to walk up the stairs, bent over and backwards. Scared the daylights out of the neighbors. 

“We could feed the ducks” Crowley suggested, quietly so as not to draw the attention of birds that may or may not have ears. No point in getting their hopes up, especially when Crowley had seen a goose charge a couple to steal their sandwiches not two days ago. Ducks were just smaller geese. And they had numbers on their side. “We always feed the ducks” Aziraphale pointed out, to Crowley’s secret relief. “What do you suggest?” Crowley asked, sipping his cocktail. Aziraphale shrugged, smiling ever so subtly “We could just talk?” Crowley smiled back “We could” 

Silence descended, broken only by the distant directions of the yoga instructor. They just sat together, occasionally looking at each other, mouth half open to speak, before looking away again. The continual silence and swelling of emotions was damaging Crowley’s calm. Time to turn to what he did best, distracting people. Sitting up, he pulled Adam into his lap in one swift movement. 

“Do you think he’s old enough for cake?” He asked, bouncing the baby on his knee “‘s got to be more interesting than dirt” Aziraphale made a thoughtful sound, scooping up a small bite of cake for Adam “He should be.” The angel almost fell over with laughter a moment later when Adam practically latched on to the fork. He had a beautiful laugh. Nope, nope, not going there. God, Satan, someone, he could listen to Aziraphale laugh all day. Aziraphale’s laugh was like sunshine after a storm. “It’s always fun to see him try new things.” The angel chuckled “Can’t remember the last time I tasted something really  _ new _ ” That gave Crowley all sorts of ideas. He’d may or may not have a list of restaurants just for his angel, his  _ acquaintance _ . Just as something to do. While his brain was busy plotting, Crowley blurted “I gave him a lemon the other day” Aziraphale just gave him a  _ look _ “ _ why _ ?” Crowley shrugged “I thought it would be funny”. They went on like this for most of the day, falling into a comfortable rhythm. Talking about the world and Adam. They talked and talked and talked, ending up laying side by side on the blanket as the light began to fade, Adam content to wriggle about between them. 

“Well” Aziraphale said, getting up as the sun began to set “I suppose I should be getting back to the shop”. Crowley didn’t want the day to end, but a park in the middle of the night was not a place for babies. Or Angels “Supposed so” Crowley said, stretching from head to toe before sliding to his feet “Lift home?” Aziraphale held Adam’s baby carrier to his chest, looking distrustfully in the direction of the Bentley “I promise to drive the speed limit” 

Crowley kept his word, for the most part. It took a significant force of will to not just  _ get  _ where he was going, but he’d made a promise. A promise he almost broke when out of nowhere, Aziraphale started laughing. “He’s dancing!” Aziraphale exclaimed, the words barely making it through his laughter “Look at him go! Getting a wiggle on. Eyes on the road!” For the brief moment Crowley got to look at the backseat, he saw that Adam, was in fact dancing. Bouncing up and down in his car seat and flapping his hands around, smiling a toothless, silly smile. 

“He has good taste” was Crowely’s only comment. He tried to focus on the road like Aziraphale had told him. An effort completely thwarted by the angel himself, when he started  _ singing.  _ In the 6000 years they had known each other, Crowley could count on his fingers the number of times Aziraphale had intentionally sung in his presence. Which was a pity, since Aziraphale’s voice was, well, angelic. A crisp tenor that rung with perfect pitch. Aziraphale was the only person who could sing Queen like a coral piece and get away with it. Didn’t help that the glow of the street lights lit him up just right. A neon rainbow filtering through the windows, wreathing Aziraphale’s head in a stained glass halo. “Learned my passion in the good old fashioned school of lover boys” Aziraphale crooned to Adam, completely oblivious to the demon struggling not to have a conniption next to him. The Bentley sped up, ever so slightly. 

They came to a screeching halt outside Aziraphale’s bookshop, the radio the first thing to be turned off as Crowley practically leapt from the car. He caught himself just in time though. Returning to the (mostly) casual air of indifference. He stopped a few feet from the door. He couldn’t go in for drinks, not tonight. To many feelings to be drunk, especially around Aziraphale. 

“Today was absolutely lovely, Crowley” Aziraphale beamed “We should do it again some time”. Crowley just nodded, not trusting his voice to betray him. There was still music playing in his head. A tune that beat within every fiber of his being. “When you’re not with me, think of you always” Freddie Mercury whispered in the back of his mind. Or maybe that was the Bentley, switching it’s stereo back on. Mind of its own, that car. 

“Well” Crowley sighed, nodding towards the door, “See you tomorrow then?”. Aziraphale smiled that sunshiny smile “I look forward to it”. The whole world seemed to shake with the force of Crowley’s heartbeat. It was all a little too perfect. Aziraphale, standing a few steps above him, framed by the door and the moonlight. Inches apart, yet worlds away. 

“Good night Crowley” 

“Night, Angel” 

They lingered on the steps of the shop, staring at each other. How long could they stay like that, Crowley wondered. If there was nothing in the universe to stop them, how long could they  _ stay  _ together? Together in their own little bubble, away from  _ everything _ . The words welled up in Crowley’s throat “don’t go”. He covered up the confession with a cough and hast “Right” before practically running back to the Bentley. 

“You go too fast for me Crowley” 

The memory chased Crowley down the steps. “You go too fast” Aziraphale had said, his eyes full of fear and other things that Crowley didn’t dare put a name too. He respected that, respected Aziraphale. They had always gone at different speeds. You only had to look at them to tell. Crowley had always changed seamlessly with the times, while Aziraphale clung to the bits he loved best. “You go to fast for me Crowley” that was ok. It was ok. Communication was good in any relationship, including friendships. You had to express your needs. Crowley was still working on that part. But he  _ was  _ willing to wait. As long as he needed to wait. Maybe even to the end of time. Just for the chance that they might match paces. That was worth waiting for. Still, Crowley hated going back to his flat alone after spending the day with Aziraphale, especially at night. What was the point of going back to a stark, empty flat when there was an angel who felt like home? 

Little did Crowley know, the angel in question was laying on a couch, thinking similar thoughts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: angel is oblivious to signs and plan is foiled … mostly.


	4. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visit leads to an important decision

“Hello sir!” 

The frighteningly familiar voice boomed through the shop “I wish to discuss buying books with you!” In the back room, Crowley frantically scrabbled to get somewhere safe. There was no back door (Aziraphale wasn’t half as paranoid as Crowley when it came to these sorts of things), but the angel had had the brilliant idea of installing a trap door. Of sorts. It was originally supposed to have been extra storage space until Crowley had convinced Aziraphale not to in case of such an emergency. Good thing too. Scooping up Adam, baby carrier and all, Crowley dove for the floor. Just in time to hear the  _ archangel fucking Gabriel _ yell “I wish to purchase your finest pornography!” 

Oh, if there was ever an inappropriate time to laugh. Forchenetly, fear was a  _ great  _ motivator for keeping your lips buttoned. 

It wasn’t just himself Crowley was scared for either. If the angels found him here, it would mean the end of him, poor little Adam, and  _ his _ angel. Aziraphale didn’t deserve that. Adam  _ especially  _ didn’t. Besides, Crowley wasn’t about to give Gabriel the satisfaction of ending him. Small consolation, but every little bit counted. So, Crowley kept his mouth shut, squeezing his way into the crawl space. 

Not the most spacious of accommodation, but a small hiding space was still better than no hiding space. Crowley was going to have to talk about that when this was over. Heaven knew this wasn’t going to be the last time someone threw a wrench into their plans.

Being an above average bendiness, it wasn’t hard for Crowley to fold himself neatly into what was essentially a cupboard. That still didn’t make it very comfortable. He’d ended up with his legs tucked under his back and the baby carrier on his chest. 

Just as he finished pulling the trap door closed, Aziraphale led Gabriel and another angel Crowley didn’t know, into their little sanctuary.  _ Their  _ space. What the Hell was  _ Gabriel  _ doing here anyway? The Archangels rarely left home from what Aziraphale had told him. Gabriel had already informed Aziraphale of Adam’s existence and what would be expected for him… Had he figured it out? Had he brought Aziraphale to the back just so they wouldn’t have to deal with the witnesses? No. No, Gabriel sounded  _ happy _ . His own comments on porn proved that angels were rubbish liars, and getting rid of a hard worker like Aziraphale wasn’t a reason to celebrate. As long as the angels didn’t look to hard at things, they’d be fine. Lucky for everyone, Adam was sound asleep. Crowley almost ( _ almost _ ) prayed that he stayed that way. 

Above the demon (and demonlit), the angels spoke in softer tones. Crowley only half listened, lost in his own thoughts. He’d never liked Gabriel. Even before the Fall. The Archangel had always been a self righteous, self centered prick. What Crowley wouldn’t have given to just get in one good hit. Square across the jaw, or right in the knackers. Angel’s weren’t known for going around completely anatomically correct, making the gesture all but useless. Would have been a sight to see though if Gabriel  _ had  _ made the effort. 

Crowley’s small fantasies of fistacuffing the archangel when the unknown angel muttered “I smell something … Evil”. He sniffed aggressively, only vaguely aware of the demon -now still as a corpse- just below his feet. He did not dare to so much as  _ think  _ lest he blow their cover. In his carrier, Adam turned over. To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale caught himself without so much as missing a beat. “Oh, it’s the customers.” Aziraphale explained, no doubt using his trademark disarming smile and general aura of sincerity. “Can’t keep up my cover if I’m denying people in just because I have a funny feeling about them.” Not a complete lie, which was good. Even angels who never flew the coop unless specifically told to would have seen through one of Aziraphale’s straight lies. He had a terrible poker face. 

A fact compounded by Aziraphale’s next question “Does there  _ have  _ to be a war?” Crowley couldn’t see him, but he had a feeling that Aziraphale was trying not to wring his hands. Aziraphale always wrung his hands when he was nervous. There was something about the other angels that had a distinct effect on Aziraphale. Just mentioning them made Aziraphale sit up straight. Make his face get a little stiffer, close himself off. If Crowley didn’t know any better, he would have said Aziraphale was  _ afraid  _ of Heaven. As afraid of Heaven as Crowley was of Hell. He’d never have guessed it, given how the angel spoke of his superiors. Strongly worded notes weren’t exactly Crowley’s idea of threatening, but seeing was believing. 

“Of course there does!” Gabriel laughed, clapping his hands together “How else are we gonna win?” He sounded excited. Genuinely  _ happy  _ about the idea of the earth being torn to bits. Looking forward to all the blood and suffering that would be on his hands. Crowley’s own hands twitched. Lucky for Crowley’s impulse control, Adam’s baby carrier was heavy enough to prevent him from just leaping out of the floor and decking Gabriel for the Hell of it. Instead, he continued to sit perfectly still, gritting his teeth and bearing it. Unfortunately, Gabriel was in a  _ chatty  _ mood. It wasn’t every day that the apocalypse was put into motion. 

Aziraphale waited an hour after Gabriel left before he even dared to let his shoulders fall. A bit excessive, but Gabriel had a nasty habit of showing up exactly when Aziraphale wasn’t expecting him to. See above incident. He was just happy that Crowley was as quick a thinker as he was a runner. He still counted to a hundred after he was certain they were alone, before asking “Are you where I think you are Crowley?” There was a muffled thump from the floor. He hurried to open the trap door. “You didn’t correct him” Crowley grinned up at him as there wasn’t a floor between them. The demon looked far too happy given their situation. “Didn’t correct him about what?” Axiraphale asked, scrunching up his forehead. 

“About the porn” Crowley wheezed, finally lifting himself from the floor “Can’t imagine what the rest of the store must have thought of them” Crowley was shaking with laughter now, hard enough that he came close to waking Adam. Aziraphale suspected that at least some of his companion’s trembling wasn’t just because Gabriel was comically bad at understanding the world. They’d been far to close to very  _ real  _ danger. Aziraphale’s own legs were still worryingly close buckling, but he tried to follow Crowley’s carefree lead.

“You didn’t hear what sandalphon said.” Aziraphale groaned “ “We humans are very embarrassed about purchasing pornography”. Aziraphale mimicked, rolling his eyes as he began nervously tidying the room “I get that they’re busy in Heaven, but you would think they’d at least do  _ some  _ research” Honestly. It was like they weren’t even trying. They probably weren’t. No one seemed to put much effort into things, other than Aziraphale. “Don’t get too bent out of shape angel” Crowley reassured, handing Aziraphale Adam before bending so far back that his head almost scraped the floorboards. His spine did a lot of ominous cracking as it realigned itself and Aziraphale had to look away. “Hell’s not much better about things that don’t involve the big plan” Crowley sniffed, cracking his neck for good measure. “No” Aziraphale mused “I suppose not”

They spent the rest of the evening in the shop’s little flat, curled up on the bed watching tv. Well, Crowley watched tv, Aziraphale read his latest Phryne Fisher novel. He tried to read, at least. There was too much on his mind for him to focus on anything other than the storm of anxiety that raged within him. Crowley wasn’t helping. Crowley, just a few inches away from him, their shoulders just barely touching, but close enough to be comforting. The demon only brought a whole other set of complications to the equation.

Heaven, Hell, the whole Apocalypse. It was so … overwhelming. The apocalypse was always one of those things Aziraphale had always  _ known  _ was going to happen, but never completely believed would actually happen. Not unlike adulthood appeared to children. Aziraphale didn’t want to go against Heaven. But he also didn’t want the world to end. It was a hard place to be in. 

He loved the world. All the little bakeries and bars and bookshops and sushi and art and, and  _ everything _ . Sunsets that looked like the whole world was ablaze. Skies so blue that you could lose yourself in them forever. People who could show such  _ kindness _ . And Crowley. The odd demon who had stuck with him through thick and thin. Who was meant to be his mortal (or rather, immortal) enemy, yet understood him better than anyone in Heaven. Probably better than anyone in the universe. Aziraphale didn’t want to lose him. He didn’t want to lose any of it. There were so many things in the world that were  _ good _ . Why did it all have to go to ruin? What was the point of making all these wonderful things, just to set it on fire? Aziraphale didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t sure if he would ever have an answer. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything about it. No one would ever know they were the ones behind it. Everything would go back to normal, and it would be ok. Aziraphale just had to figure out how to do it.

“I think we’re going about this all wrong.” Aziraphale announced, practically tossing his book across the bed. Crowley’s head lolled to the side, an eyebrow raised “How so?” 

“Heaven incarnate, Hell incarnate.” Aziraphale waved his hand about the air “I don’t think that’s what Adam needs to be. I don’t think that’s what he  _ ought  _ to be.” He didn’t look at Crowley while he said this. He didn’t  _ have  _ to be looking at him to know he was smiling. That smug, stupid, wonderful smile like a cat who’d just caught a canary. Or rather a snake who’d just found a gopher den. The smile of someone who’s just won an argument the other person had forgotten they’d been having. 

“And what ought he to be?” Crowley hummed, scooting just a bit closer to Aziraphale, letting his cheek brush against Aziraphale’s side. He watched in silent awe as the angel’s eyes went fuzzy, the word whispered like it was the answer to all the problems in the universe “Human”. Aziraphale blushed a bit under Crowley’s scrutiny, quietly adding “No side but his own”.

Crowley didn’t speak until Aziraphale looked at him. The demon had taken his sunglasses off, his face almost split in two from the breadth of his smile. “Like us?” ha asked, allowing a little bit of hopefulness into his voice. The same sort of hopefulness that had been apart of them since Adam had come into their lives. Since they had first met in a garden so long, long ago. Aziraphale put his hand on top of Crowley’s, amazed that the demon both let it happen and didn’t flinch away from the contact. “Like us” the angel smiled. He’d been fighting it for thousands of years, fighting every day to deny that they were working together, that they were  _ friends _ . It was baby steps, he knew, but it was the best he could do. Aziraphale was always willing to do his best for his best friend after all. Maybe something more. Maybe someday, some far off day not unlike the apocalypse.

“Aziraphale” Crowley grinned, his voice dripping with unbridled glee “are you suggesting  _ rebelling _ ?”

“No!” the angel yelled, nearly jumping off the bed in alarm. “No” he repeated softer, adding a bashful “not as such”. “Mm-hmm” Crowley chuckled, finally leaning away from him to sprawl across the bed. A gesture that was meant to put distance between them, yet ended up with more of Crowley pressed up against the angel than before.

“So” Crowley purred “What were you thinking” Aziraphale fidgeted, scrabbling for any ideas. He hadn’t really gotten that far yet in his thought process. Aziraphale just  _ knew  _ that they should be doing something. It was a very strange feeling. Not planning ahead. Making a decision for himself without decades of thought behind it. But it had been an odd day. An odd year. An odd life. The thought dropped him into his head as easy as electricity flowing into a bulb. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Aziraphale half chuckled, a little scared, a little excited “but I think we should move” Crowley stared at him, only the rapid dilation of his eyes giving anything away. 

“Wha’ do you mean?” Crowley asked, letting his head fall to one side, his cascade of red hair falling like a fire shifting in the wind. No, not going there, need to focus. Don’t think about how nice to touch those rolling waves of hair. No. Nope. Crowley does not look soft or like the most beautiful sunsets of all time. FOCUS. They were planning, focus on planning. Crowley didn’t seem terribly opposed to the idea, which was good. Every plan was so much easier when you’re partner in crime agreed with you. "Well, a bookshop’s not exactly a proper home is it? And you’re flat won’t be much better.” Azirapahle rambled, letting his ideas spill out of his head as soon as he’d thought them. Crowley had that effect on him. Heaven demanded that he keep his thoughts to himself. To speak only when spoken to, give only the answers that were expected of him. Aziraphale pushed on before his insecurities could distract him from the beginnings of their plan. “Besides, if we want Adam to love humanity,  _ London  _ isn’t exactly the place to do it.” Not even Crowley could raise much argument on that. 

“But we’ve been in London for nearly 300 years angel.” the demon pointed out, miracling a bottle of wine and a couple “I watched you fight real estate agents and the  _ mob  _ to keep your store” he added, handing Aziraphale a glass which smelled suspiciously like champagne. “I Know” Aziraphale admitted, running a loving hand along the wall. The bookshop was everything he could have dreamed of. His own place where he could do what he liked, be with whomever he liked. There were so many memories in this place, tucked into the corners like misplaced bookmarks. Aziraphale could get another bookshop. He couldn’t get another world. Or another Crowley.

“Where do we go?” Crowley asked “I don’t know” Aziraphale admitted “Somewhere no one would think to go. Somewhere secluded, somewhere safe. The sort of place that no one would expect the antichrist to be.” Which was just about everywhere at this point. Adam was supposed to be in a private manor, having his life planned out for him by his parents and the powers that be. The rest of the world was fair game. Though Aziraphale rather fancied New Zealand. It was one of the few places in the world he’d never been too. He’d seen enough pictures that the views alone would be worth it. It seemed the sort of place he’d get along in very well

“Tadfield!” Crowley exclaimed, leaping out of bed.

“Tadfield?” Aziraphale asked incredulously, more than a bit baffled. Where on earth was Tadfield? “It was where place he was born” Crowley explained, doing a little jig around the room like he’d just won the lottery “last place he  _ should  _ be” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, trying to remember if he had ever been to Tadfield. He couldn’t say he had. “You could still have a bookshop” Crowley insisted, getting more and more excited about the idea “and, and I’d cook for you.” He looked so happy. The last time Aziraphale had seen the demon his excited, they’d been drunk out of their noggins and about to give Charles Dickens the fright of his life. Aziraphale chuckled, trying to hide the sudden blush creeping up his neck “ _ You’d  _ cook for me” 

“Of course I would! I’m a brilliant cook!” Crowley declared, brandishing his wine glass about as he flopped back onto the bed next to the angel. “When did you ever cook anything?” Aziraphale teased, leaning into the other’s warmth “you don’t like eating.” “I cooked that picnic” Aziraphale started “You did?” 

Well. That was … nice. Crowley didn’t usually admit to being nice. Then again, Aziraphale didn’t usually hide demons right under his superior’s nose. Life was certainly full of changes now a days. “To a new start” Aziraphale proposed, raising his glass of definitely champaign. “To a new start” Crowley agreed with a resounding clink “Hopefully we don’t cock it up”

Their laughter rang high above the rooftops. 


	5. Tadfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers come to Tadfield ….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update folks! Things were a bit hectic, but I hope to be back on the Friday update schedule again next week. This chapter's a little longer so I hope that makes up for the wait!

If anyone in Tadfield thought it was odd when two well dressed gentlemen moved in to town out of nowhere, no one said anything about it. That did not however stop them from having all sorts of opinions about it. Most of the town’s thoughts were of the envious variety and directed at the Bentley. The fact that they owned a Bentley was about the only thing anyone in town knew about them. They simply swooped in out of nowhere, choosing Tadfield as their place to nest. For weeks, there was more mystery surrounding the pair than the meaning of anything said in Cornish. 

No one saw any moving vans or teams of people brining in the furniture. Simply, one day, people walking about the village center noticed that one of the cottages had been refurbished into a store. No one knew who had moved in. They hadn’t even known that the building was up for sale. The only indicator of any change was a freshly painted sign outside the cottage. It was not a terribly big or flashy sign. Just a simple board painted green and nailed to a post at the end of the garden. “Fell & Crow” the sign read in looping golden letters “Garden and Book Shop”. 

The town’s first sighting of either gentleman came under the most unexpected of circumstances. The Johnsons were out for a walk with their new dog and even newer baby, when they bore witness to the “Incident”. A delivery man showed up with a pile of seeds and dirt, evidently insulted someone, and was seen running from the store, chased by some of the most colorful language anyone in town had heard in three decades. Not since Ms. Oliver caught Bobby James snooping around the ladies swimming team and sent him home with a broken arm. What the Johnsons witnessed was about as fantastical, a twice as colorful. 

A man with apple red hair and flashy shades, had thrown a potted plant at the delivery man’s head as he ran, just narrowly avoiding giving the poor man a concussion. “And don’t come back!” The mystery man had screeched, flames practically pouring from his eyes. The Johnsons suspected that was just the way the sun had been setting. There weren’t really flames, and the gentlemen in black didn’t  _ really  _ have such pointy teeth. The “Incident” did nothing to help the town’s opinion of their newest neighbors, merely adding fuel to the fire of suspicion and cloud of growing conspiracies. 

There were many more sightings after that. Brief moments that grew more and more frequent as the strangers settled in. They were all anyone could talk about. The Tadfield gossip circle in particular had made it their sworn duty to get to the bottom of the local mystery. Tadfield’s professional rumor machine was renowned throughout the three closest counties as the most ruthless and efficient info collectors in the area. They took down every little detail and spread the information faster than dandelion seeds in a tornado. Normally there would be a  _ little  _ embellishment, just to keep things interesting. With the unknown “Fell and Crow” there was no need for exaggeration.

The second half of the pair was seen in the local bakery, purchasing an absurd amount of scones and an entire blackberry coffee cake To all observers, he looked like he’d stepped directly out of a 1930’s magazine featuring some prestigious college. Cream suit and little bow tie, he was a round and friendly man. A much cooler head than his “passionate” companion. 

The first time they were ever seen together was at sunset on the last day of summer. They were walking through the woods, by the sole river that ran through the outskirts of Tadfield. They appeared to be arguing about who was the better poet, Edgar Allen Poe, or Allen Ginsburg. Framed in the sparkle of the fading sunlight on the water and the slowly encroaching stars, they seemed a very odd couple. One tall and angular, his whole body seeming to be in constant argument about which direction it should be going in. The other short and round, everything drawn up and orderly.

Being as Tadfield was the sort of place where people wanted to know everything about everyone without straight out  _ saying  _ anything, the town stayed out of things. For a while. 

Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper were the first to approach the odd duo. They came bearing the gift of a lemon cake, which they both felt was sufficient payment for whatever juicy tidbits they  _ might  _ happen to pick up. There are many Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hoopers in the world. The Mr.Hoopers are often neighbors, or estranged cousins that show up to family reunions unannounced. They are the people who stare over your shoulder while you’re texting, or peer through the cracks in garden fences even at the slightest hint of an argument. The Mrs. smiths are often as not, the aunts of the family. The ones who love nothing more in the world than to corner their relatives by themselves, grill them about their lives, and act superior. They sort who will argue with you even when you agree on a topic. They prowl social media looking for scandals to bring up at moments of vulnerability. Mrs. smiths will leave your wine cellars empty and your self loathing overflowing. 

These are the sorts of people who’s only joy in life comes from the misery of other people, simply because they have nothing better to do with themselves. 

Together, the pair of professional eavesdroppers stalked up the garden to scope out their latest prey. From the outside, it appeared to be a completely normal cottage. Standard brick building surrounded by a slightly above average garden. Who were they kidding? It was a  _ beautiful  _ garden. It was arguably the prettiest garden in the village. Mrs. Smith was willing to bet her hat on it, and it was a fabulous (not to mention expensive) hat. The pair watched the frankly  _ luscious  _ foliage enviously as they waited for the door to open. Of course they’d have a beautiful garden, that was just good advertising. Come see the lovely garden store, we’ve got a lovely garden. They knocked again purely out of frustration. Someone  _ had  _ to be home. Where else was there to go for two recluses in Tadfield?

At last, the door of the shop was opened by a cheerful man with a soft sort of  _ glow  _ about him. He was dressed in cream colored slacks and a tartan jumper to keep out the creeping Autumn chill. “Hello” the stranger beamed “How can I help you?” He peered at them over bottle rimmed glasses, his smile bringing with it a  _ physical  _ glow. Or so they thought. A trick of the light, the visitors told themselves. He was just backlit by the ceiling lamp. 

“Just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood” Mrs. Smith explained, offering up the sacrificial cake. “ _ Oh _ !” the shopkeeper all but cooed as he accepted the gift, his smile only growing larger and brighter “This is wonderful! Thank you so much! Please, do come in.” he insisted, gesturing inside as he moved to make way for them. They were only too happy to oblige. 

Neither of the visitors had ever been to the cottage before then, but they were certain it hadn’t looked like this. Some serious renovations had to have gone into the turn it into both business and living space. The only thing that appeared to divide the home from the store was a little red curtain behind the cash register. The shop wasn’t all that small. Which came as a surprise to the snoopers. They had thought it would have been like the corner grocery store down the road, with only just enough room for the supplies and lane ways for customers as an afterthought. It was by no means sprawling and there  _ was  _ still some significant clutter going on, but it wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic (or treacherous) as imagined.

What was truly amazing was how evenly it had been divvied up. Right down the middle. Exactly down the middle, if Mrs. Smith’s eye was worth anything. She was an architect after all. One side of the shop for books, the other for plants. A forest on both sides.

A clutter of well used shelves stuffed to the brim with paperback novels sat on the left. No apparent filing system, but there seemed like there was  _ some  _ method to the madness. At least Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hopper hoped so. It was hard to tell in the dim light. On the right lay a tangle of the most beautiful plants in all of Tadfield, possibly the most beautiful in all the world. Even more lustrous and well groomed then the outdoor garden, they came in all sizes and colors, sectioned by genus and height. From the smallest poppies to a few sizable fruit trees, there hardly seemed room for everything. The whole cottage smelled of aging paper and freshly turned earth. Of a hundred different flowers and freshly brewed tea. 

Very nice, very nice all around.

There was a warm feeling about the space. Standing in the shop, Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper were struck with longing for somewhere they had never known. They were standing in a private sanctuary, wrapped up in the echoes of a place that could have been home. A place of taste and comfort. Just the sort of place they needed (wanted) in Tadfield. This revelation came as an immense relief, given Fell and Crow’s growing reputation. The guests walked down the centerline of the shop. Even with their shoes on, the sensation of lush cream carpet under one foot and smooth black marble under the other was odd. They said nothing as they followed their host through the red curtain and into the cottage proper. The rest of the home would turn out to be an equally mashed together clash of taste and value. There was less divide in the living space though, just smatterings of personal touch. 

A well loved arm chair vs what looked suspiciously like a throne. Paintings from almost every era in varying styles. Abandoned wine glasses littered among mostly forgotten cups of cocoa. A personal collection of first edition classics piled like offerings at the foot of a statue of two angels wrestling. Well, it was a bit more suggestive than that, but everyone was going to keep that to themselves

In some undisclosed flat in London, there had been quite a bit of arguing about the statue, and whether or not it would make the journey to Tadfield. The argument was settled when someone pointed out that they were taking with them an entire chest of ancient texts along with a restaurants worth of cocoa, so yes angel, I will be bringing my many statues  _ and  _ my throne, and they’re both in the living room. Try to stop me. 

The tiny living room they were ushered into was existed in an ordered sort of chaos, centered around a well loved sofa. A dozen or more books lay piled on the side tables, a few sticking haphazardly out of the cushions. Winding around books and lamps lay a jumble of red and black yarn, originating from a wicker basket on the floor. Somewhere in the mix of string had been stashed a number of knitting needles. Theoretically some of the yarn had been wrangled into the shape of a very nice shawl, but it was hard to say where the shawl began and the tangle ended.

Mr. Hooper was startled out of his inventory of the space, when he noticed in the big basket of wooly yarn, an equally large snake. At first he thought it was a charcoal branch, burnt black top and fiery underbelly. But there was no mistaking that it was, in fact, a snake. Just as there was no mistake in noting that the snake was  _ glaring  _ at him. “Oh, don’t mind him” Their host assured as he squeezed past his stunned guests and into the spacious kitchen “He may look scary, but he’s just a big softy” The snake made several sounds of protest at this, it’s baleful glare now directed at it’s seemingly unaffected owner. 

“Do please make yourselves comfortable” The oddly bright man insisted, gesturing to a pair of extremely comfortable looking armchairs. Seeing nothing else to do, especially nothing that involved avoiding the giant snake, Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper took their seats. The chairs  _ were  _ incredibly comfortable, striking the perfect balance between soft and stiff. Plush enough to cushion, but still firm enough that it didn’t feel like you were being slowly devoured. They just  _ happened _ to smell faintly of cinnamon and brimstone, which only gave the guests more questions than answers.

The daunting snake continued to size the guests up as they settled in. It did not appear to be interested in coming near them (much to the guests relief), but the snake’s daunting stare was almost worse. Neither Mrs. Smith nor Mr. Hooper had ever thought that that  _ any  _ animal could make them feel like they were the ones on the dissecting table. Yet, here they were, and hating every second of it. Mrs. Smith put the lemon cake on the coffee table between herself and the snake in self defense.

Their host seemed completely oblivious to the psychological warfare going on between the strangers and his snake. He bustled about the kitchen, putting the kettle on and busting out a very lovely tea set. His guest watched with fascination at the grace with which he went about the task. Moving teacups and saucers around in perfect unison, everything in exactly the right place just as the kettle began to whistle. 

The snake continued to make various disgruntled noises as Mr. Fell glided past the couch and over to the small coffee table. “Hush” Mr. Fell teased, gently booping the snake’s nose as he set the tray on the table. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper were both shocked and awed by the amount of bravery the man showed. They couldn’t say whether the serpent was poisonous, but anything that big was bound to have  _ huge  _ teeth. The serpent only sulked as it’s owner rearranged the yarn on the couch to make room for himself. “Forgive me for my poor manners” their host smiled apologetically, handing Mrs. smith her tea before handing an identical cup to Mr. Hooper “I should introduce myself, my name is A.Z. Fell.” 

“Margaret smith” Mrs. Smith beamed with forced cheerfulness, shaking Mr. Fell’s hand “and this is my friend, Alfred Hooper”. They all shook hands and traded smiles. “Very charmed to meet you both” Mr. Fell beamed “it’s so kind of you to come round and see us.” Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper couldn’t shake the fact that looking into his smile was like looking into the sunlight.`You could be blind sided by a smile “And where is you’re partner? Mr. Crow?” Mr. Hooper asked, cutting himself a slice of cake. He very pointedly didn’t offer anyone else a slice. Mr. Hooper wasn’t quite sure to make of Mr. Fell, only that that despite seeming like a very well educated man, he was also what Mr. Hooper could only describe as a “cotton head”. A bit fluffy and with too many thoughts to keep track of at once. Mrs. smith was having similar thoughts. “Mr. Crow is out for the day, I’m afraid” Mr. Fell explained, cutting himself  _ and  _ Mrs. Smith a slice of cake “Just me and Adam today” 

“Adam?” Mr. Hooper asked. Mr. Fell’s smile turned to puzzlement before leaping to sudden alarm. “Oh!” Mr. Fell exclaimed, jumping to his feet “Adam! Oh, I’ll lose my own head next.” with that, their host bustled off to the kitchen again.

He returned with a very sticky baby. 

The toddler was wearing most of his applesauce lunch, which was quickly brushed away by Mr. Fell and a handkerchief. Strangely, neither guest could remember their host picking up a handkerchief, nor where he put it down. “Adam” Mr. Fell declared, setting the toddler on the ground between his chair and the coffee table, producing a toy car from a side table to entertain the child with. “Adam” Mrs. Smith cooed “What a beautiful baby” Mr. Fell nodded his agreement, turning that charmingly fond smile back towards the child. Mrs. Smith couldn’t say if she saw much family resemblance between Mr. Fell and little Adam, but she supposed the child’s golden curls could have belonged to the shopkeeper. “How old is he?” Mr. Hooper asked, making a mental note to ask around to see if anyone had seen the newcomers with a baby before. It always paid to be the one with the latest info. Mrs. Smith may or may not have slipped Adam a bit of the lemon cake. “A year, as of next week” Mr. Fell replied, refiling everyone’s tea. 

Things went on like this for a while, filled with the usual rounds of polite “getting to know you” banter. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper were experts at teasing secrets out of people, especially when they were working together. Unfortunately for them, Mr. Fell was so oblivious to all their attempts at subtlety, that they were in the living room for over an hour before they finally introducing the real reason they’d dropped by. That burning question that kept Tadfield on the edge of it’s seat. “We couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Crow threw a potted plant at a delivery man a few weeks ago?” Mrs. smith said, subtle as a train “What was that all about?” 

“Oh,  _ that _ ” Mr. Fell chuckled, setting aside his tea “Well, the gentlemen in question made a rather off handed and unnecessary comment about Mr. Crow’s prize Stargazer lilies.” He pointed to a clump of magenta colored flowers bathing in the sunlight. Mr. Hooper swore the flowers the flowers stood up a little straighter at the mention of their name. “They’re his pride and joy you see” Mr. Fell explained, that blinding smile diming to something more private. Amusement and fondness and a bit of something else that was harder to pin down “Spent years perfecting them” Mr. Fell went on, blissfully unaware of the curious stares of his guests “and I think with all the unpacking and expenses and things, it just got a bit too much for him.” Mr. Fell sounded ever so slightly embarrassed as he finished. Though whether it was embarrassment on his own part, or for his companion was unclear. Mrs. Smith prompted him a bit to continue “He snapped” she said matter of factly. 

“Yes, I suppose he did” Mr. Fell mused, getting up to brew them a fresh pot of tea. Mr. Hooper swooped in on his host’s distraction to go in for the kill. “So he’s not normally so …” Mr. Hooper trailed off, trading a knowing look with Mrs. Smith. “So?” Mr. Fell asked, still remarkably oblivious to the duo’s attempts at discretion. Mrs. smith clarified for him. “Volatile” she said with a click of her tongue. Understanding dawned in Mr. Fell’s face. “Oh,  _ no _ ” he assured, rushing back with a full pot of tea. “He’s very nice, I’m sure you’ll get on splendidly when you get the chance to meet him.” Mr. Fell gave them a wobbly smile. He was flushed, but he didn’t flap about as he had when they’d caught him off guard with the question of why Adam was wearing a onesie that said “Hellspawn” on it in dripping red print.

What neither host nor guests would ever know was that in fact, the delivery man had made a very rude comment on the physic of Mr. Fell while he was out of earshot. Mr. Crow took considerable objection to this. In fact, he chased the delivery man around the shop with a garden house threatening to garrote him before trying to brain him with a rather unfortunate petunia. It was a bad day for the delivery man, but a worse day for the petunia, who wondered what it had done run to deserved being chucked out of the house. It had been doing it’s best. Honest. 

Fearing that they were taking a too direct route, even with someone like Mr. Fell, Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper silently agreed to agreed to let the subject drop. They’d already learned a great deal on the matter as it was. “Stargazer” Mrs. Smith mused “odd name for a flower, but very pretty” The little black speckles across the pink petals were charming, but they didn’t really invoke stars. “Oh yes” Mr. Fell agreed “a pretty name, but not the strangest I’ve ever heard. That title goes to the “Black Wizard Lily”.” 

“You’re pulling my leg” Mr. Hooper chuckled “There’s no such thing”. Black wizard lily, Mr. Fell had a funny sense of humor. “Oh, I didn’t believe it either” Mr. fell insisted, cutting himself a second slice of cake “but it does exist.” He pointed just to the left of the classic white lilies. Sure enough, not far from the stargazers were several pots of black lilies, the tips of their trumpet shaped petals tinged blood red. “Huh” was all Mr. Hooper had to say.

As they turned back towards Mr. Fell, gossipers eyes bugged when they noticed the smooth, black head of the snake was now sliding it’s way up Mr. Fell’s neck. The shopkeeper did not appear to be terribly bothered by this, drinking his tea and enjoying the cake as if nothing was wrong in the world. He did not so much as flinch as the snake began to slither across his shoulders and back down his chest. His guests watched in fascination horror as the snake made himself a little nest out of the man’s clothing. It pooled it’s coils in the top of his waistcoat, it’s shiny black head resting just over Mr.Fell’s heart.

“Aren’t you ever worried about having that creature?” Mr. Hooper asked, gesturing to the snake who was now very snugly sharing the shopkeeper’s personal space. Mr. Fell seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked, surreptitiously taking a third slice of cake. “Well it’s just” Mrs. Smith sighed, gesturing at nothing in particular “Don’t you ever worry that he might be  _ dangerous? _ ” 

“Dangerous” Mr. Fell looked thoughtful “No, I can’t say that I have” His guest looked desperately at one another then back towards the now very smug looking snake, struggling to come up with a satisfactory explanation as to why they didn’t want the snake near them, let alone free range in Tadfield. “But do you really think it wise to keep such an animal?” Mrs. Smith insisted “Especially when you have a baby in the house” Mr. Hooper added. “Ooooooh, no need to worry about that” Mr. Fell crooned, absentmindedly stroking a finger along the snake’s head “He’d never hurt us.”

If Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper could say anything about their visit, it was that they walked away with the knowledge that snakes  _ purred _ .

The next week, half of Tadfield came out to officially meet the newcomers. The other half being either away on holiday, or too busy to attend. Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper finally met Mr. Crow, and the meeting did very little to change their opinion of the man. His hair was tied back in a loose bun, his sleek black clothes sticking to him like a second skin. Very smooth, very  _ flash _ . Yet, he did remarkably well with little Adam. The baby did not so much as grunt as it road around on the alarmingly sharp hips. Understandable, as not even the fussiest of babies could have stayed awake after being lulled to sleep on Mr. Crow’s constantly gyrating hips. Some of the parents and grandparents worried what would become of their relatives when faced with such hips. 

Tadfield’s newest residents did not wander about, choosing instead to let the town come to them. The gossip circles noted that they’d chosen the coveted and tactical possession of directly between the snacks table and the drinks table. Mr. Crow did not eat anything, though his wine glass never seemed to empty. Mr. Fell on the other hand, had piled his plate with a little bit of everything. Throughout the party, the bookseller could be heard loudly complimenting each dish between greetings. He was as open and friendly with everyone as he had been with Mrs. Smith and Mr. Hooper, making up for his companions withdrawn indifference with his exuberant cheer. The only thing anyone could get of the grumpy Mr. Crow, was that his first name was Anthony. They learned names and faces, tying them with occupations and locations, all the while patiently sitting through the town’s many questions. 

The Youngs had taken a particular interest in the pair, as they were the closest neighbors the newcomers had. Mrs. Young was getting along with Mr. Fell and Mr. Crow like a house on fire. Trading recipes and gardening tips with them and answering whatever questions they themselves had about the town. Mr. Young noted this with conflicted feelings. He was standing off on the far end of the snacks table (it was quite a long table, as everyone in town had insisted on taking part in the potluck) and keeping a covetous eye on a honey cake. Their own new baby kept tugging at his mustache and preventing him from keeping his thoughts straight for more than a few minutes. It wasn’t that he  _ disliked  _ the couple. It was just that he couldn’t help but feel he had  _ seen  _ Mr. Crow somewhere before, and it was bothering him that he couldn’t place the man’s face. No one with cheekbones that sharp and such pointy eyebrows was so easily forgotten. And yet, Mr> young couldn’t remember for the life of him where they’d met. 

“A.Z.Fell” Mrs. Young had mused, accepting a watercress and ham sandwich from Mr. Crow “What does that stand for?”. Mr. fell opened his mouth to answer, but Mr.Crow beat him to it. 

“Angelo” 

“Angelo” Mr. Young echoed, finally retrieving the cake and getting the baby under control enough to join in the conversation “Very interesting” he mused around a mouthful of cake “very big city” he nodded approvingly, glad that he had gathered what proof he needed to confirm his belief that they were “cityfolk”. Mr. Young completely missing the  _ look _ “Angelo” was giving Mr. Crow. He was too busy with his pipe and the now fussing baby to understand that there was going to be a talk when the party was through. Mr. Crow felt it was completely worth it. “What does the Z stand for?” Mr. young wondered aloud. No one answered him.

“So, who’s the father?” Mr. Hooper asked in his traditional fashion. That is to say, appearing out of nowhere and asking the sort of question that most people are too polite to ask, but are dying to know. “Ah, we’re actually his godfathers.” Mr. Fell corrected, looking nervously at Mr.Crow for a confirming nod. “Old friend of mine I lost touch with asked me to look after him.” Mr. Crow elaborated, not without a put upon sigh and the briefest flash of what the onlookers swore was dread “Couldn’t say no”. He looked down at Adam, who had wound up in a wicker bassinet lined with blankets someone had decided was a good house warming present. Currently, the toddler was discovering that his feet  _ weren’t _ especially tasty. Mr. Crow’s face did a complicated series of somersaults when he looked at the baby. His eyebrows couldn’t decide where they were going, and kept running into each other while his lips twitched in the tell tale way of someone who has been conditioned  _ not  _ to smile but really wants to. “Definitely couldn’t say no, not to that face”. 

“And Mr. Fell?” Ms. Oliver asked. She was an older, grandmotherly woman, who Mr. Crow had taken a particular liking to because she wore Birkenstock boots under her floral skirt. He also hadn’t failed to notice the rose gold brass knuckles discreetly hidden in her sewing basket. They’d been having a good natured argument about who was  _ truly  _ the best punk band of all time. So far, Ms. Oliver was the only person who dared to refer to him as “Anthony”. “He’s my best friend. I asked him to help me.” Ms. Oliver didn’t miss the little smile Mr. Fell was surreptitiously hiding behind his wine glass. “I couldn’t say no either” Mr. Fell added, the faintest of rose tinges dusting his cheeks. “Always help a friend in need” Ms. Oliver raised a single eyebrow at Mr. crow, who responded by draining his wineglass in record time. They seemed like nice boys. She hoped they would figure things out. 

“What kind of books do you sell, Mr. Fell” Mrs. Oliver piped up, hoping that such a mundane topic would be enough to soothe the pair’s nerves, but be personal enough to keep the vulture’s happy “Oh, all kinds” Mr. Fell answered, his mood visibly brightening at the mention of his profession. “Fantasy, fiction, and mysteries!” He practically wiggled in his seat, causing everyone in the vicinity to smile involuntarily. It was hard  _ not  _ to smile around Mr. Fell, much in the same way it is hard to not feel happy in the company of a golden retriever. “I  _ love  _ a good mystery. Agatha Christie is my favorite, but we’ve got lots of others. Mostly classics like Jane Austin and Oscar Wilde”. 

“Practically modern by your standards” Mr.Crow quipped, plucking a fresh bottle of wine from underneath the nearest table to top everyone’s glasses off with. “You just have no appreciation for  _ quality  _ literature” Mr. Fell shot back with a challenging smile as he accepted a refill. Even with his sunglasses on, it was hard to miss the way Mr. Crow rolled his eyes. It was not that his whole head moved, just that you could hear the softest of exaggerated sighs and couldn’t  _ not  _ think that he was rolling his eyes. And so and so forth, the party continued on well into evening.

On her way out, Mrs. Oliver picked up on whispered fallout of the couple’s conversation with the Youngs. 

“Angelo?” Mr. Fell had grumbled, trying and failing to look nonchalant for the benefit of the onlookers. The gossiper circle was not fooled. Nor was anyone else for that matter, especially Mr. Crow “You were panicking” Anthony insisted, also failing to conceal how much he was enjoying getting a rise out of his companion “I could hear the gears in your brain turning. You’ve never been good at fibbing” 

“ _ Angelo _ , Crowley.” The bookseller chided, though there was no real heat behind it “Not exactly subtle, is it?” Mr. Crow did not stop smiling “Sorry angel” the taller man muttered, offering up a deviled egg as apology. Mr. Fell looked at the egg, gave a baleful glare to his companion, took the egg without looking at his companion and popping into his mouth in the most petulant way possible. Mr. Crow just simply smiled a self assured smile. 

She gave the pair one last glance before she left. Standing side by side, they were the definition of an odd couple. There didn’t seem to be any obvious reason why they would be friends and yet, there was no denying that they were close. Ms. Oliver couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something they were running from. Maybe it was family, or responsibility, or simply the whole way the world was set up. They looked happy though. For what might have been the first time in a long time, Mr. A.Z.Fell and Mr. Anthony J. Crow looked truly happy. 

Yes, Ms. Oliver thought, smiling to herself as she began the long walk home. They were nice boys. They’d get along just fine in Tadfield. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Lily varieties are real and very pretty


	6. Keeping Up Apperances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley get some worrying news and a troubling case of feelings

Things fell into a comfortable routine in Tadfield. Aziraphale found that he fits in rather nicely, as competitive haggling was practically a village sport. Crowley fits in too, in his own way. He is pleasantly surprised to find out he is not the only person who yells at his garden. It’s not quite the same, as other people yell at the evidence of rabbits or slugs, while Crowley yells at the plants themselves. Crowley gets better results. 

Ms. Oliver drops in from time to time, just to talk. She usually brings something with her, because “It’s polite Angelo, dear. Stop fusing and put the kettle on.” The gifts usually come in the form of new tea and local fruits. Once, it was simply a pile of ham sandwiches. Ms. Oliver is good company and both Aziraphale and Crowley are always happy to see her. She has a life long love of poetry, endearing herself to Aziraphale, and a fondness for rock that Crowley adores. The three of them talk of just about everything, any excuse to enjoy each others company. Sometimes, Ms. Oliver just sits back to watch the couple converse among themselves. They’re cute and it’s painful to watch how utterly clueless they are. Ms. Oliver has a bet with her wife (Ms. Blake, the grocery owner) to realize things. 

The Youngs dropped by now and again for playdates with Adam. Their son, Damion, was a bit of a handful, but Adam seemed to enjoy the company. The most interesting thing that had happened to them since the welcome party was the fact that Airaphale and Crowley had caught the attention of the neighborhood watch, which consisted of one very disgruntled older gentleman, and his dog. For the most part, he wasn’t terribly threatening, just a bit of a nuisance, especially to Crowley when he yelled at him about his speeding. Crowley largely ignored him, as he was already doing significantly less than he might have. 

Life was uneventful. 

Until one day it wasn’t. 

It was the middle of autumn when the letters arrive. They were redirected from their old residences, a bit scuffed from the journey, but still plenty legible. One black and rough, one white and soft. They sat side by side on the front mat one morning, patiently waiting for their recipients to come get them. 

They didn’t open the shop that morning. 

“It’s fine” Aziraphale said “It’s fine”. His wobbly voice - a handful of octaves higher than normal - suggested otherwise. The angel paced around the kitchen, a cup of untouched tea in his hands. He’d been doing the same thing for fifteen minutes, bouncing back and forth between the counter and the fridge. “We’ll be fine” Crowley insisted, also pacing circles around the living room. The floorboards had begun to smolder as he stomped, leaving charred footprints in the wood. In the other room, his plants shook violently. They always knew when a storm was brewing in their master. 

“Yes” Aziraphale said, his eyes darting to Crowley as he gave the demon the weakest of smiles. He didn’t look very convinced. “We need a plan” Crowley asserted, running his hands through his hair less as an act of nerves, but to reassure himself that he wasn’t on fire. Plan, plan, right. He was a demon. By nature of his existence, - and his own natural cleverness - Crowley was very good at plotting. It was unfortunately at times like these when his mind decided that ideas just weren’t something he  _ really  _ needed. Staring death in the face and likely to sweep Aziraphale off his feet, no problem. He could even throw in some catchy one liners before swaggering off into the sunset. Given a day to think it over however, there would be significant room for panicking and blithering before the ideas started flowing. 

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, finally stopping to just sit down on the floor with his cup of tea. He looked stunned and more than a little lost. Like a west side terrier that had just been ordered to stand still while balancing a bit of bacon on it’s nose. Silence continued to rein through the house. “We have to go” Aziraphale said at last. It was more of an order to himself than anything, but it was a good starting point. Crowley grunted his agreement, finally landing on the kitchen floor next to him. Anxiety and the serious potential of accidentally setting the cottage on fire driving him to earth. “We have to have an explanation” Crowley said, miracling them up a bottle of scotch. While wine was their favorite poison, he was certain that Aziraphale would agree that they needed something a little stronger tonight. Crowley was proven correct when the angel took a healthy swig from the bottle. “It’s got to be a good explanation” Aziraphale insisted, clutching the bottle too him like a security blanket. He wasn’t shaking, which was good. Crowley couldn’t say the same. 

“What do we say?” Aziraphale asked, taking another swig of scotch and pulling a truly spectacular face. Crowley couldn’t help but smile at that. Even faced with the wrath of Hell, Aziraphale could make him smile. That was the true magic of the angel, he could make everything a little more bearable. After a hundred thoughts passed through his head, Crowley finally landed on “That we’re doing our jobs”. Crowley downed a little more of the scotch. It tasted like pine and juniper, burning all the way down and promising the worst kind of headache. Lovely thing about not being human, hangovers were a bit more negotiable. “Yes” Aziraphale sighed, fixing Crowley with an exasperated smile “I think they might want a little more than that” 

He was right of course, but Crowley was building up to that. He raked his brain, chasing the most promising threads of thought. As usual, the alcohol wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped it would. It hardly ever did. After more prolonged silence and most of the scotch and the thoughtful swishing about of heads, Aziraphale said hesitantly “We could tell the truth”. Crowley’s head swung towards him in slow motion. The demon pulled his shades down enough to stare at his companion. He couldn’t be serious. After all they’d done, after putting everything on the line for earth (for each other), was he really going to cave and throw it all away. Crowley opened his mouth to say as much, when he caught the faintest glimmer of mischief in Aziraphale’s eye. Understanding finally slithered it’s way through the drunken haze surrounding Crowley brain. 

“Ooooooooooh” the demon breathed, his sunglasses almost completely falling off his face. That was good, that was  _ really  _ good. Credit where credit was due, for all that Aziraphale was ignorant (and by proxy, in some cases  _ innocent _ ), he could be a right clever bastard when he wanted to be. 

“That’s perfect” Crowley grinned “Tell them we’re talking care of the antichrist, and they’ll never know that were taking care of a different kid then they think we are!” He turned to Aziraphale, beaming brighter than the sun and ready to shower the angel in every word of praise in every language he’d ever learned. Any and all thought process however came to a screeching halt when Crowley saw him  _ smile _ . A sweet, pleased smile. As if someone had just given Aziraphale an award for “best knowledge of Oscar Wilde” or something similar. Crowley wanted to kiss him until that smile was plastered all over his own face. 

Self sabotage and misdirection were the only answers to those sorts of ideas. 

“Works out nicely” Crowley coughed, turning away so Aziraphale couldn’t see him blush. He could  _ feel  _ the angel giving him that confused, birdlike look. The one Crowley found  _ far  _ too endearing. Appalling so. “We can keep our cover, and we don’t have to worry about you’re awful lying.” 

“What?” Aziraphale spluttered, the picture of indignation. Crowley might have taken him more seriously if the angel hadn’t almost lost his grip on the scotch. Disarmament of the angel, successful. Now all Crowley had to do was keep him occupied while he got his heart out of his throat and back in his chest where it belonged. “Angel, I say this as your best friend, but you are a horrendous liar”

Aziraphale scowled, though it was more of a pout. Getting drunk always softened him. Or perhaps it was just that Crowley’s brain had trouble picturing Aziraphale being anything but soft. “Am not” The angel huffed “Are so” Crowley shot back, a smile creeping across his face. Nothing like a good drunken row to put him in a good mood, especially when he could nudge Aziraphale. It had been too long since they’d had a decent argument. Aziraphale was really getting into it too. Crowley egged him on. “You’ve got the world’s worst poker face, and that’s a fact.” 

“I lied to Gabriel” Aziraphale pointed out triumphantly, snatching back the scotch bottle. He was smiling again, the kind that put little lines around his eyes. “Gabriel’s an idiot.” Crowley countered, stealing the scotch bottle back “Besides, that was more of a fib than a proper lie” For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Crowley could practically hear the gears turning in her brain. “What’s the difference?” He asked at last. “Well-” Crowley began, pulling up one of hundred little powerpoints filed away, before he remembered what they were supposed to be doing. “No. No! That’s not the point” Crowley interrupted himself “the point is, we’ll be ready and that’s all that matters. Aziraphale didn’t seem to have anything to say to that

A comfortable silence had made itself at home in the cottage for a good half hour before Aziraphale asked “Who’s going to watch Adam?” 

The next day, Aziraphale and Crowley stood at the doorway to the office building as the crowds of London flowed around them. No one noticed or interfered with them as they fixed the structure with the dreaded gaze of people who really don’t want to be doing what they’re doing. There were many doorways into the other planes of existence, all of them hidden in plain sight. Exactly where people least expected them to be. It was always easier to use a joint route. Find the place where the walls were weakest and cross over at the same time. No one ever knew they did it together, and they were never late to an appointment, so no one thought twice about it. Even if someone  _ had _ noticed them entering together, they could have brushed it off as a coincidence. The other side’s as lively as we are, got to keep up our guard, and all that. 

Aziraphale and Crowley waited until the last possible moment before heading inside. Before they went though, they traded one last look. One last worried “I hope we don’t get caught red handed” glance that only brushed the surface of all the things running through their heads. They had the opportunity to confess. To give each other one last bit of reassurance, some honesty about what they had gotten themselves into. Instead, Crowley said “Best of luck angel” It got Aziraphale to smile, just a little. And that made it worth it. “You to old boy, see you on the other side.” 

Hell was much like Crowley remembered it. 

Grubby, grungy, and with the persistent and prevailing smell of dirty socks. It was why he spent as much time a physically possible away from the home office. Hell was,  _ hell _ . There had been a lot of people in Heaven, but Hell was crowded. Before the Fall, he could at least stretch his arms without knocking into someone. Now, Crowley was just a fish trying to push his way upstream in a crush of bodies. Jostled and squished, at one point he had to snap his teeth at a couple of passers by just avoid getting knocked over. Generally, Heaven wasn’t sticky either. Crowley could feel his shoes being sucked down by the concrete with every step. It made Crowley’s scaly skin crawl. 

But it was  _ Hell _ . It wasn’t supposed to be  _ nice _ . 

There wasn’t exactly a set structure to Hell, at least not one Crowley could figure out. Theoretically, there were the nine circles for the various sins, but that was more of a rough outline than any actual layout. But if you thought about where you  _ needed  _ to be going, you’d get there. Eventually. 

A general assembly of demons had crammed themselves into a dingy, poorly lit room, with only a small empty circle for Crowley to stand in. Alone, but surrounded. If Hell knew how to do anything, it was how to make you feel the pressure. Dozens of hungry eyes latched on to Crowley as he sauntered into his expected place. He was used to it. Giving his reports to Hell was just one more performance, and Crowley was nothing if not a brilliant actor. He smiled at the congregation, his trademark smirk. “Evening all” Crowley murmured, smooth as his snakeskin boots. 

Out of the crowd stalked three figures. Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, flanked by the Dukes Hastur and Ligur. Also unsurprising. They always seemed to show up when Crowley made it back to base, even when they weren’t the ones giving him the direct orders. Hastur and Ligur didn’t especially like Crowley. Crowley had never fully understood why. He hadn’t really known them before the Fall. He hadn’t made a point of being around them or doing things to get him on their bad side. Maybe they envied the fact that he got so much freedom on earth. Or maybe they were simply pissed that they weren’t the ones who’d been trusted with Adam’s care. Either way, the Dukes didn’t like Crowley. Hastur in particular seemed to have it out for him. Crowley’d long suspected that Hastur knew that he wasn’t as loyal to the cause as he made himself out to be. The Duke was just waiting for proof. 

Beelzebub had the grace (or lack thereof) to look indifferent. Beelzebub was indifferent to many things. In fact, Crowley could hardly ever getting more than an arched eyebrow out of Hell’s prince. “What have you been doing Crowley?” Beelzabub said at last, a tingling buzz ringing through their words. “Why have you left your post in London?” 

“Excellent question!” Crowley grinned, falling into the rhythm of things “The answer, my hellish duty”. 

“You’re duty?” Hastur sneered. He was good at sneering, many demons were. They have the eyes and the bearing, all wrapped up in ghoulish voices that make you think whatever you were just talking about was absolutely worthless. Forchenetly, Crowley had 6000 years worth of experience dealing with other demons disbelief and disdain. Spite was, however, a great motivator to keep yourself together. Crowley gave Hastur his best serpentine smile “But of course”. He gestured to the room with a flourish “I intend to set myself up as a caregiver at the Dowling household, in order to properly educate the Young Warlock. How better to get things going than making sure the young master knows exactly what’s expected of him when the time comes?” 

There were a few nods among the congregation, peppered with a couple quiet murmurs of approval. Even Ligur looked  _ marginally  _ impressed, which only spurred Hastur on. “Is that strictly necessary?” the Duke of Hell objected, puffing himself to loom just a bit more. “When Our master comes into his power, the power itself will show him what to do.” More murmuring followed this, the crowds gaze shifting between Hastur and Crowley. It was an even playing field. The duke had more authority and knew how to throw his weight around. 

Crowley however, knew how to work a crowd.

He smiled his most disarming smile, sidling right up to Hastur. He could smell the other demon’s breath, rot and decay wrapped in the reak of blood. Had the man never heard of a bath. Crowley did not let his revulsion show, hissing softly “And what about before then?” 

Hastur always brought out the worst in Crowley when they went toe to toe. Crowley’d always had a problem with authority, he’d been thrown out of Heaven for it. And Hastur, Duke of Hell, made it too easy to mess with him. He was one of the highest ranking demons in Hell after all. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him when he tried to bully them. It was a bit  _ too  _ much fun to make him squirm. “What if something happens to him before he’s of age? Hmm?” Crowley asked, throwing his best “you really should think before you speak” look at Hastur before turning to the crowd “You don’t want to start from scratch, do you?!”

Angry muttering rose up at this. They had waited a  _ long  _ time for this. Their first chance at revenge in 6000 years. They  _ wanted  _ this.  _ Needed  _ it. Crowley couldn’t imagine how angry they’d be when things didn’t turn out the way they’d planned. But he wasn’t going to think about that right now. He was on a roll. It was funny, angels and demons liked to think they were so far above humans, yet they were just as easy to manipulate. If you knew what you were doing. 

“You don’t think the armies of Heaven don’t know about him?” Crowley shouted. He was doing laps of his little circle now, pumping the crowd up. “That some overachieving angel won’t try to end him, to prove Heaven’s better by ending the war before it’s even started?!” The demons were screaming now, their words among the cacophony of their rage. Crowley couldn’t help smiling to himself. He had them right where he wanted them. Holding up a hand, he waited for silence before continuing. “Our young master may have innate magic to him, but he’s unskilled. He won’t know how to defend himself, especially at this age.” He gave the crowd a cocky, reassuring smile “That’s where I’ll come in.” 

Suddenly, Crowley spun, performing a low, sweeping before the still unimpressed Beelzebub. “That is,of course” he purred “with your permission my lord”. Crowley didn’t have to look to know Hastur was trying to burn a hole in the back of his head. The crowd was on Crowley’s side, to deny him would be the start of a riot. 

“Very well” Beelzebub droned with a shrug “You may proceed Crowley.” The serpentine demon righted himself, throwing an extra wide smile in Hastur’s direction “Thank you my lord” Crowley said, syrupy sweet “you’re too kind”

Heaven was as unchanging as Aziraphale had left it.

As a general rule, Heaven wasn’t big on change. They liked things to be perfect and precise. White and spotless and vast and  _ empty _ . 

There always seemed to be so much space in Heaven. People coming and going, no one ever staying in the same place. No one standing around chatting or enjoying the marvelous view. There was not time for leisure in Heaven. Aziraphale’s dread grew with every step, his spiritual shoes ringing against the stone to bounce off the high ceilings. It was enough to make anyone feel small. Aziraphale himself felt much like a child who’d been ushered into the principal's office. Alone and unprepared. Gabriel would have made a good principal. Cold, brittle, yet with a general demeanor of someone who you’d want to play baseball with. 

Gabriel stood at the center of a glass room, surrounded by the other archangels. They all looked so neat and proper. Aziraphale felt shabby by comparison. “Aziraphale” Gabriel beamed as he entered the room, really going for the baseball coach kind of friendly. “Did you get here safe? Were there any problems with the opposition?” Aziraphale shook his head, returning the archangels smile with less vigor. He didn’t trust himself to words yet. 

“You know why we called you here of course?” Uriel asked, all stately and formal. The archangels were so put together. No, focus. “We wouldn’t normally call you away from your post for something like this, but there’s a bit of confusion here” Azirapahle nodded, still struggling to get his mouth to cooperate enough to make words. “So, why  _ did  _ you move to Tadfield?” Sandalphon asked. Aziraphale couldn’t quiet pin down why, but he had a feeling Sandalphon didn’t like him very much. No clue why. Perhaps Aziraphale had been too vocal about his feelings about the apocalypse. All the more reason to be meek and truthful as he could be. 

“Put enough truth in a lie and it’s guaranteed to be believed” Crowley had said once. Aziraphale couldn’t remember exactly what they’d been doing - he suspects they were drunk- but the advice has stuck with him all these years. Aziraphale  _ was  _ a terrible liar and he knew it. That’s why he’d suggested the plan in the first place. That wasn’t going to stop him from doing his best though. 

“I moved to Tadfield to be closer to the Antichrist” Aziraphale found himself saying. He sounded far more confident than he felt. That was good. Fake it till you make it, as the humans were so fond of saying. “The Antichrist” Michel said slowly “Who lives on the edge of London” Again, Aziraphale felt like a child, trying to explain something to indifferent parents that only indulged him out of love, but would rather be doing just about anything. “Yes” Aziraphale nodded, fidgeting ever so slightly. THe archangels traded unreadable glances before Michel continued “I fail to see you’re logic” Ah, now they were on to the easy part. Aziraphale had been rehearsing all the possible ways this could go down, and he was confident in his approach. 

“I will set myself up as a gardener at the Dowling manner in order to keep an eye on Warlock, and potentially convert him” It was a good argument. What better way to keep tabs on the antichrist then being an influence for good in his life? To help him see that the world  _ was  _ good. “Yes” Uriel said, looking bored “but what does that have to do with moving to Tadfield” They’re face was impassive. Composed in a way that suggested -despite the question - No answer Azirapahle gave would change their mind about the conclusion they had already come to. The other archangels wore similar expressions. Azirapahle was going to have to pull out the big guns for this. He wet his lips nervously.

“There are hardly any professional Gardeners in London. It’s all concrete and buildings. It will be much more believable to have a farmer type gardener come in from out of town.” The on reaction this got was a slight cough from Sandalphon. Aziraphale’s mind skipped from thought to thought like a frog racing across lily pads, trying to recall the next part of his speech. "Besides, a country person is likely to get far less scrutiny.” Four pairs of eyes fell on Aziraphale like hawks who have just spotted a defenseless rabbit. Aziraphale certainly felt defenseless. He’d gotten their attention though, which was the point. If there was one thing Heaven couldn’t abide in it’s the thought that one of their agents might become compromised in front of humans.

“Scrutiny” Gabriel echoed , abandoning all pretenses of friendly baseball couch and reverting to  _ archangel _ . “Of course.” Aziraphale replied hopefully “The Ambassador has a lot of guards around him and his family at all times. It’s likely to draw much more suspicion for a  _ London  _ gardener to show up out of nowhere looking for a job when they could be working at the  _ royal  _ gardens.” Aziraphale laughed nervously, looking at his feet. Now that he’d said it out loud it sounded incredibly stupid. The unmoving stares of the archangels weren’t helping either. 

Aziraphale would have felt more at ease facing down a firing squad than being stared at by the archangels. Or back in the stocks during the reign of terror. 

At last Gabriel shrugged “Well, you are the human expert Aziraphale. We trust your judgment” Aziraphale just about melted onto the floor at that. It was all he could do to stop his legs from shaking, though that might just have been the adrenalin crash. “It is a noble thing that you are trying to do.” Uriel agreed and that just about sent Aziraphale over the moon. He hated to admit how much he liked being praised by Heaven. It didn’t happen very often, but it made Aziraphale go all warm, like he’d just downed a cup of cocoa that was still too hot to drink. He liked being told he was good. That he was doing the right thing. Most of all Aziraphale liked being reassured that what his decisions lined up with the will of Heaven. That he could keep doing what he was doing. Indulging in all the best parts of the world, but still being  _ good _ . 

“We will of course understand when you fail though” Sandalphon said. He said it with that bright, “holier-than-thou” smile that most people reserved for triumphing over their greatest enemy. Consequently, this is also the look most future lawyers are naturally endowed with. Aziraphale just gaped. “What?” he managed at last, squeezing his hands together to stop them flapping about. He’d already tripped up enough over the course of the interview, he didn’t need to give them any more reasons to think him a fool. “You can’t  _ convert  _ the antichrist Aziraphale.” Michel said, consolingly “Some things can’t be achieved, even by the might of Heaven.” 

‘But- I won’t fail.” Aziraphale insisted desperately. Surely they had to see? It didn’t have to be like this. They could prove that humanity was worth it through Adam. If the  _ antichrist _ could be a good person, that humanity was  _ worth it _ , then that should be proof enough. Shouldn’t it? “Everything will be alright, and there won’t have to be a war” Aziraphale tried to smile convincingly. It just made his face hurt. “Of course there will be a war” Michel smiled, trading glances with Gabriel. Obviously the archangel had shared his little “there can’t be a war without War” joke. A distant part of Aziraphale, the one that was losing the fight against all consuming panic, was rolling it’s eyes so hard it nearly hurt itself. The “joke” really wasn’t that clever. “But-” Aziraphale tried again, the last straws of his composure slipping through his fingers. “Aziraphale” Gabriel all but crooned “We’re  _ archangels _ . We know what we’re talking about” 

The bus came on time. 

It probably would have come on time anyway, but now it came with purpose. There were only two people waiting at the bus stop, unusual for central London, but no one paid it too much mind. Nor did they pay any mind when the driver headed for a little town no one had ever heard of before then. Well, all but two someones had never heard of it. 

Crowley and Aziraphale sat as they usually did on the bus, one directly behind the other. Each of them did their best to pretend that they didn’t know each other, nor that they were talking at all. Old habits die hard after all. “Everything go alright?” Aziraphale asked, trying to speak without moving his lips, passing the movement off as having something stuck in his teeth. “Swimmingly” Crowley grinned, opening up a newspaper to skim the pictures “They don’t suspect a thing” He sounded pleased with himself. Crowley usually did. Still, Aziraphale found it hard to believe that Crowley had had a better time in Hell than he’d had in Heaven. He’d also believed that Heaven would see reason. “What about you then?” the demon asked, as casually as if he’d asked about the weather. He couldn’t have known, Aziraphale chided himself with a little mental kick. No need to be nasty just because he was in a bad mood. “Oh yes,” Aziraphale said glumly “passed with flying colors”

Night had firmly seated itself when Crowley and Aziraphale finally made it back to the cottage. The Youngs weren’t terribly upset about them calling at such a late hour, though Mr. Young did a lot of puffing on his pipe and vague grumbling. The last thing anyone could make out was Mr. Young’s quiet assertion that looking after one baby at night was quiet enough, before disappearing into the cottage again. Adam of course, was completely dead to the world. The babe did not so much as stir as he was tucked in, nor did he bat an eyelid as his guardians snuck out of his room and back down stairs. 

Angel and demon pour themselves a glass of wine before collapsing on the couch. Just the one. Just to take the edge off. Neither of them can find anything to say, so they sit in companionable silence. As the night drags closer to morning, Crowley finally hauls himself to his feet, followed by Aziraphale. The shorter man however stops by the shop entrance while his companion is half way up the stairs, prompting the demon to turn back. 

“Coming to bed Angel?” Crowley asked, trying to be casual about it. Aziraphale has slept less since their arrival in Tadfield, the move taking at least some of the stress out of him. While he didn’t sleep, sometimes Aziraphale would sit in bed with Crowley. He just sits there, quiet as the dead, reading whatever book has captured his latest fancy. It’s more than Crowley could have ever hoped for, more than he deserves. The demon refuses to admit to anyone - especially himself - but he wants to get all the time with his angel he can. Maybe it’s that some small part of him believed that they’re doomed to fail. That the apocalypse will come about no matter what they do. Or maybe it’s his own greed. Crowley’s so close to what he wants, so close to the only other being he’s ever felt  _ anything  _ for. He wants as much of Aziraphale as the angel will let him have. The wine buzzes dully in his system, giving Crowley the courage to hope.

“No” Aziraphale said at last. He drew out the syllable, keeping his eyes on the distant windows like someone’s watching him. As if, if he turns away, if he lets his eyes meet Crowley’s, something terrible will happen. Crowley is helpless against those kinds of looks. Heaven can really take it out of a body, he knows. He wants to do nothing more in the world than to wrap Aziraphale up in his arms and hold him until the angel knows that they’ll both be safe. That there’ll be nothing to worry about. But Crowley knows better. 

They are probably being watched. 

Even if Heaven and Hell weren’t paying  _ enormous  _ attention to their earthbound emissaries, but they were still  _ there _ . Breathing down their necks and keeping them on their toes. Besides, Crowley was trying not to go too fast. Aziraphale always asked for help when he needed it. If he needed space, Crowley would give him space. “Alright” Crowley drawled, hoping he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt. There would be other times, on better days. “Night, angel” Crowley yawned, trudging his way up the stairs. 

“Good night” Aziraphale half heartedly replies just as the lights go out. He stays exactly where he is. Alone in the dark house, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. 


	7. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit much for Aziraphale  
> Crowley does his best to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rise from the pit of depression like a phoenix in the new year, and bring you this humble offering. 
> 
> Sorry for being gone so long guys! But, thank you, thank you, thank you for all the nice notes you've been leaving in the comments. I'm going to try to get back on a regular schedule with the updates again, but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Buckle up kids, this one's a rollercoaster.

Crowley woke to the sound of crying.   
As far as sudden, startling awakenings went, Crowley’d had worse. Especially in the middle of the night. Demons had a propensity for doing things in the middle of the night and none of them ever slept. More than once Crowley had been dumped out of bed and into a job when the bosses were feeling bored.Crying, especially a baby’s crying, wasn’t all that bad. As Adam got bigger, it became the new alarm clock.   
Babies cry, they cry quite a lot. Crowley had never blamed them for that. The world was a strange and terrifying place, everything was new and unknown. When you’re that small and helpless, it must be horrifying. He suspected that was why most humans didn’t remember what it was like to be a baby. Who would want to remember being constantly scared for years?   
It was one of those human things that Crowley could never fully relate too. He had always remembered what happened to him. Not always immediately, there were so many memories to sift through, some took longer than others to dredge up than others, but he always found them in the end. Usually. Crowley’s first memories of life hadn’t scared him. Neither had his first memories of earth for that matter. He’d always found the world beautiful too. Even when he’d been cast out, he’d seen all the facets of the physical world and the universe as unbearably beautiful. All the splendor of creation, imperfect, and therefore, wonderful.   
Crowley’s brain fast tracked from sleepy nonsense to the beginnings of practicalness. His mind had latched onto some bits of usefulness though. Crowley filed through his memories as he got up, tying his unruly hair into an equally unruly ponytail as he slid out of bed. He was trying to remember songs. Through trial and error, the demon had found that just about the only thing that calmed Adam down when he was fussy, was sea shanties. Crowley had been a big fan of shanties during his pirate days. Those had been good times. Lots of drinking, lots of singing, lots of very amusing demonic miracles that may or may not have solely been meant to fluster a certain Principality.   
Most people wouldn’t think that drinking songs made good lullabies, but croon anything soft enough and slowly enough and it became a lullaby. Shanties had a good rhythm to it too, easy enough to slow down without losing the song. As much as Crowley would have loved it, Queen didn’t make for good lullabies. Mostly because Crowley’s brain refused to slow down at all when singing “Don’t stop me now” or “Fat Bottomed Girls”.   
Belatedly, Crowley wished his brain hadn’t been so focused on music, he might have noticed what was wrong sooner. It was only as Crowley was opening the bedroom door that his brain organising itself enough to realise that, despite the fact that the crying was coming from the nursery, it wasn’t Adam who was crying.   
Quickly and quietly, the demon slipped out his bedroom, racing on silent feet down the hall. Aziraphale had insisted that the nursery be close by, just in case something happened. Well something was happening now and Crowley would be damned (again) going to let it end badly. Tip toeing through the hall, he found the nursery door open a jar. The opening was barely a crack, big enough to let through a sliver of light and the unmistakable sound of Aziraphale’s tears. Heaven, Hell, or both could be waiting for Crowley beyond that door. But so was Aziraphale. So was the baby. Steeling himself for the worst, Crowley pushed the door open enough to see into the nursery. Inside, Aziraphale stood over Adam’s crib, sobbing softly.   
It was not the first time Crowley had seen him cry. The angel had a soft heart and Heaven often demanded that he be where the greatest tragedies occurred. To help people in the aftermath or be the one to bring it about didn’t matter, it always got to Aziraphale. It was nothing to be ashamed of. Not that Heaven or Hell would ever see it that way, but Crowley had always thought it was one of Aziraphale’s better qualities. He was soft in every sense of the word and he had the courage to admit it. That didn’t mean he didn’t need help.   
“Angel?” Crowley whispherd, gently pushing the door fully open, careful not to startle Aziraphale or wake Adam, “Angel, what’s wrong?” Aziraphale jumped a little, hastily drying his eyes on his sleeves and rearrange himself into some semblance of orderly. Red puffy eyes, disheveled clothes, so very unlike Aziraphale. Crowley couldn’t remember ever seeing him in anything other than crispy pressed clothes and tidy hair. Things had to be bad.   
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Aziraphale replied through a brittle smile “go back to bed dear”. Fat chance of that, Crowley thought, moving to gently wrap an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale did not so much as flinch as the contact. If anything, he leaned into the touch. Crowley had half expected him to shove him out the door, yell at him that he didn’t need his help, and throw the world’s most spectacular temper tantrum. Not that it would have stopped Crowley. He was always there for Aziraphale when his angel needed him most.   
“You’re still a terrible liar angel” Crowley murmured, giving his companion’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He was rewarded with a shaky laugh and the angel relaxing just a smidge.   
They stood like that for a while, Crowley with his arms wrapped around Aziraphale while the angel tried to swallow his sobs. They rocked gently together, in time with the sway of Adam’s crib. The baby , for his part, was fast asleep. Dreaming little dreams of world domination. Or (more likely), squeaky the caterpillar, the plush stuffed animal that was currently wrapped around Adam the way Crowley would have curled around a certain tree.   
After Aziraphale had calmed down a bit, Crowley gently ushered him out into the hall. Aziraphale’s nerves couldn’t take the baby waking up upset on top of everything. Gently guiding Aziraphale downstairs, Crowley propped him up at the kitchen table before going to make tea. He didn’t want to go far from Aziraphale, but tea was the only thing the demon could think of that would help. It was only when they were settled and Aziraphale had two cups of camille in him, Crowley began to pry. “What’s the matter angel?”   
Aziraphale sighed, rubbing his eyes. The Angel’s mouth opened and closed several times, nothing but unnecessary breath passing his lips. Crowley put his hand over Aziraphale’s giving it a small squeeze. They had become far more liberal with their physical contact since they had started living together. Once, they might have once brushed each other off, even thrown each other away. Now, they curled up together on the couch, sat together in bed, or like now, sought comfort in one another. Strange how 6000 years of hesitant friendship could be cemented in a single year simply by sharing the same space constantly. “It’s just” Aziraphale began, the words coming out in tiny choked gasped “I don’t want it to end.”   
Crowley blinked slowly. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he asked anyway. “Don’t want what to end?”   
“Everything!” Aziraphale cried, quickly covering his mouth again. It hurt and amazed Crowley how ingrained the habits of heaven were in Aziraphale. The angel was shaking as he took his hand away, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. When he found his voice again, his words came out quiet but just as unsteady as before “I don’t want this to all come to ruin! To have all the things that have been created to just go up in smoak with only me to remember them. All that art, all that poetry, go with no one but me to give a damn about it!”   
“Angel” Crowley began, trying to soothe his companion. He knew the feeling Aziraphale was talking about. He’d been keeping it locked up in the back of his own mind(entombed in a chest, some heavy duty locks, and three sturdy safes). Only approaching it with the best tools he pulled out for every problem. Come at it with all the charisma and scheming in his arsenal, and hope for the best. Hope that their crazy plan might just work. That saving the world -without any of the powers that be finding out that it was them doing it- was possible. That they’d be ok.  
Crowley tried not to think about it most days. Easier to lose himself in the everyday complications and joys of living. Easier to just throw himself at keeping his cover, keeping the shop running. The demon certainly had plenty of things to keep himself occupied with. Fell & Crow had gained a reputation in Tadfield. Better book selection the only other book store in town and flowers in such high demand, Crowley was starting to worry that he’d have to whip up a few discrete miracles to keep up. He’d never much liked work (part of why he’d never taken up a day job before), but he enjoyed hanging around Aziraphale all day and yelling at his plants. Crowley could almost forget that he was Crowley the demon, instead of Mr. Crow the florist. Life was so much simpler and pleasurable when you weren’t worrying and just being.   
Crowley hadn’t considered that Aziraphale wouldn’t do the same. A sickining pit opened up in his stomach at the realization . He’d assumed Aziraphale was alright when he wasn’t. Went to bed when Aziraphale needed help. He should have been paying closer attention, should have pressed Aziraphale when he knew he was upset. Failure was not a new to Crowley, but it stung all the more to know that he had failed his best friend. The demon sucked back his tears as quickly as they threatened his eyes. He needed to be strong for Aziraphale, needed to give him the help that he had deserved sooner.   
Crowley tried to push his feelings into words, to shape them into a cohesive apology or argument for calm. Aziraphale was rambling again before he could get past “angel”. “And all the people!” Aziraphale cried, as passionately and firmly as he might have a year ago in the back of the bookshop, plastered out of his mind and arguing about philosophy “They don’t deserve that! All those lives suddenly snuffed out! All those children who will never get a chance to chase their dreams. And Adam,” Aziraphale gasped, “our poor Adam. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve a fixed life, a half life. I don’t want him to be made to be another one of their pawns. I don’t want him to end up like us. I don’t want the apocalypse or either of the worlds it might bring about” Aziraphale took a shaky breath, almost giving Crowley a chance to get a word in edgewise. Any argument he might have raised died on Crowley’s forked tounge when the angel looked at him. Aziraphale lifted his eyes to meet Crowley’s, tears overflowing onto his cheeks. The angel’s face so open, so honest, so full of fear and love that Crowley was afraid. Afraid of what he himself might admit when faced with such raw emotions. “I don’t want to be in a world where I have to fight you” Aziraphale whispered.   
“Angel”   
Crowley didn’t mean for it to come out so soft. For the word to come out so broken, pleading and comforting all in one. He could feel wetness prickling in his own eyes. Demon’s weren’t supposed to be gentle, but Crowley wasn’t most demons. He, oddest and most unorthodoxy of Fallen, had poured all the gentleness he had into that single word for the sweetest, most unconventional of angels. A few other secret feelings slipped into the word as well, but Crowley was to wrapped up in the moment to notice, let alone care.   
“And I’ve been horrible to you!” Aziraphale wailed, tearing his hand away from Crowley’s to hide his face.  
Okay. That was different.  
Not entirely untrue, Aziraphale had been mean to him from time to time, but Crowley had also been mean on occasion. Neither of them had been truly horrible to one another. They were only - well, not human - but people. Sometimes they disagreed. The kindness outweighed the cruelty though. That’s why they were friends. At the end of the day, no matter how many arguments they went through, there were always make ups afterwards. They’d only ever had the one real fight, the one that ended with Crowley sleeping through most of a century. He’d never asked what Aziraphale had done with those lost years.  
Crowley tried to protest the point, but Aziraphale wouldn’t be stopped. He steamrolled over the demon’s words, the unbridled tide of his emotions pouring out of him in a desperate flood. “I’ve spent my whole existence trying to do what’s right.” Aziraphale hiccuped, his whole being wobbling “I thought that meant doing what Heaven told me to do, I thought it meant distancing myself from you.” Suddenly, Aziraphale’s hands were holding Crowley’s, soft and warm and wet with his own tears “I was wrong to do that.” The angel couldn’t keep saying things like that. He was going to make Crowley crack at this rate. Make him say something he couldn’t take back. Aziraphale seemed pretty determined to do just that because the admittance was followed up by another, softer truth “You’re the best person I know no matter what you say. You’re the only friend I have, really. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.” another hiccup “I don’t want to know”  
Crowley couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t sit by and watch Aziraphale tear himself to pieces. Heaven and Hell be thrice damned.   
In an instant, Crowley was across the table, wrapping Aziraphale up in his arms. They sunk slowly to the floor, Aziraphale sagging into the embrace. It was only Crowley’s reflexes that stopped them completely tumbling backwards. Still, they collapsed into an untidy heap, bits getting squished in uncomfortable ways. It didn’t matter. As long as they could be close to each other. As long as - for this precious, tiny moment - they could be safe together. Crowley rubbed little circles in Aziraphale’s shoulders, humming bars of a song he had almost forgotten he knew. “I don’t want to end either.” Crowley murmured into the stillness of the dark cottage “That’s why we’re doing this” Aziraphale nodded, pressing into Crowley. His eyes were closed, his chubby cheek squished into Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale didn’t look alright, but he looked calmer then he had been.  
After what felt like hours, Crowley gently pushed Aziraphale up, pulling them both to their feet. Silently, he led the angel through the house and up the stairs. The floor did not so much as shift as they padded gently to the bedroom. Aziraphale collapsed first, pulling Crowley with him. They lay in silence. Touching and not touching as they tried to come to grips with the riot of emotions between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a little ooc, but this was a conversation I really wanted them to have.  
> I promise the next chapters will be happier.


End file.
